Just This Once
by shewriteswords
Summary: "Yeah," Dad said, looking over at the bed where Sammy lay, pale and still, thin chest rising and falling with a wheeze on each inhale. "Yeah, it really should have." Story is complete. Warnings and details inside.
1. Dark Horizon

**Summary: **An AU. Sam, Dean, Adam, John, Bobby, and Castiel. Guest appearances by other hunters, demons, and angels.

**Warnings: **Some domestic abuse, canon-typical violence, and some bullying. Rated T to be safe.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A few notes of explanation: **

1\. In this story, Adam and his mother were attacked by ghouls when Adam was a toddler. His mom was killed, but John Winchester and his boys made it in time to save Adam, who then joined the family.

2\. Adam is seven, Sam is twelve, and Dean is sixteen.

3\. I know John Winchester can be a divisive subject. I personally think he loved his boys, but I have a lot of problems with how he raised them, especially when it came to dealing with their unique personalities. I do think he wanted to protect them, and I imagine it would take a lot of courage and self-sacrifice to live as a hunter. This story is _not_ meant to bash him, and the reasoning behind a lot of his actions will become clearer as the story goes on.

**Aside from all of that, please enjoy the read, and let me know if you have any questions or suggestions! I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback. **

* * *

**Dark Horizon**

"No welcome signs these, no omens of fair weather! So said the Captain, as he shouted aloud his orders to his men, and so he thought within himself, as he looked out more and more anxiously now to the dark horizon, lowering in the distance, now to the far-off glimpse of land, seeming to calculate meanwhile, as if the chances of life and death were in the balance, how long a time must yet elapse before that slowly narrowing space should be covered, and the haven gained at last."

_The Churchman's Companion_, Joseph Masters, 1867

* * *

Sam yawned and stretched. Adam was finally asleep in the next room and he was trying to do his homework. He spread his books out all over the bed so that he couldn't go to sleep until he'd finished.

The door slammed downstairs, shaking the walls. Sam paused, listening carefully for any sound from Adam's room. There was nothing.

For once, they were renting a two-story apartment, which hopefully meant Adam would sleep through whatever happened next. But Dad hadn't called him yet, so he might as well work on his algebra. He rolled his shoulders and tried to focus. Train A left Lancaster at 3 PM…

"Sam! Get down here, you little freak!" Sam heaved in a breath and clenched his fists. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed out. Then he opened his eyes, closed his books, and quietly went downstairs. Quietly, but his hands were shaking.

"Yessir?"

"Boy, what is this?"

"Dinner? And I've cleaned up, and Adam's in bed, and I was just doing my homework."

"Adam's in bed, and I was just being a little prissy wimp," Dad mocked. "Get over here." Sam obeyed without a word.

"Face the wall." Then Dad was taking off his belt and Sam was clenching his fists again.

"What did I even do?" He said, and then realized he'd said it out loud. Dad said nothing for a minute. Then-

"Your school called and said you've been fighting. Again. Don't you have any respect for yourself? For your family?" Sam flinched. And Dad hadn't even begun yet.

* * *

That night, he lay in bed fighting back tears. Dad had given him new bruises that They would tease him mercilessly for in the morning. The door creaked and dim light fell into his bedroom.

"Sammy?" Wordlessly, Sam sat up and pulled the bedsheets back. Adam scurried across the room and climbed in, his cold bare feet hitting Sam in the stomach. He grunted.

"Sorry!"

"Shhh! We don't want Dad to wake up. It's alright, Adam."

Adam wriggled around until he was comfortably wedged under Sam's arm. A few minutes passed. Adam was breathing heavily and regularly. Sam held onto him a bit tighter and started to drift away.

"Did Daddy hit you again?" Sam was so surprised he couldn't even speak. "It's okay, Sammy," and Adam threw his little arm around him. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd cried without a beating but suddenly there were tears running down his cheek onto the pillow. He fought for control.

"Dad doesn't hit me," he finally said when his voice was steady again.

"Yes, he does," said Adam, whining a bit like any seven-year-old that hates to be contradicted.

Like any good brother Sam wanted to say, "No, he doesn't," but instead he said, "How do you know about that?" Adam didn't answer for a long while and Sam almost thought he'd fallen asleep. Finally, he wriggled around until he was looking up at Sam.

"I was scared, and you weren't in your room and I came downstairs to find you and I saw."

"Adam! You know you're not supposed to come downstairs after bedtime!" Adam squirmed.

"Well, Daddy isn't supposed to hit you like that either, but he did."

"Adam, listen to me. Look at me and pay attention. If Dad ever hits you, and I mean it - if he does anything to you - you tell me immediately. You hear me? And don't come downstairs again. Ever. You understand?" Adam nodded. "I mean it, Adam. Okay?"

"Okay."

There were no more words until the morning.

* * *

They were standing right outside the bathroom when he walked out. In seconds his books were scattered across the floor, his history project was destroyed, and They were pulling his sweatshirt off. He kicked and struggled. There were threats and insults and punches.

Sam got another beating that night after Dad got off the phone with the school. Another beating, and no dinner, and Sam was shaking in his bed when Adam crawled in beside him. He told himself it was because Dad had forgotten to pay the heating bill again.

Adam had a nightmare around midnight and started crying. Despite Sam's best efforts, Dad heard and stumbled in. Sam climbed over Adam and tumbled out of the bed. There was an empty bottle in Dad's hand.

"Sam, Sam, Sam. You little freak. Making your brother cry. What have you been telling him about me, huh? You been lying about me, boy?" Sam shook his head frantically.

"Please, Dad," but then there was the sound of glass breaking. Sam was on the floor, and he thought to himself that the lights were very bright. Somewhere, someone was gasping for air, and Adam was crying even harder. Dad was roaring, and Adam was crying. Sudden fear had him up, standing between them. Something was running down his face. He thought distantly that it was blood.

"Sammy! Please, Daddy!"

"You little monster! You killed your own mother, you know that? You know that?" Sam nodded frantically. Dad backhanded him. "What's that, boy?"

"Yes, sir! I'm sorry!"

"You're sorry!"

Dad was kicking him, and Adam was crying hysterically. Sam's pleas trailed off into low moans until finally, Dad was finished.

"Clean all that up. Adam, get to your room." He stumbled out, thankfully without waiting to see them obey. Sam wasn't sure if he could have persuaded Adam to go to his own bed. He was still kneeling on Sam's bed, crying. Sam pushed himself up on shaking arms and crawled around the glass, back into the bed. He felt like he was dreaming. He sank down beside Adam and put his arms around him.

"Shhh... Shhh... It will all be better in the morning, Adam. Shhh..."

* * *

**So... let me know what you think!**


	2. The Calm

**The Calm **

"Faft lock'd in her bed, with a clofe ward to devour thee, my brave Paraquito; but hufh, no words, there is a calm before the tempeft."

_The Dumb Knight_, Lewis Machin and Gervase Markham, 1601

* * *

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Yeah, Sam."

Static.

"Speak up, boy."

"Nothing. I just - do you know any psychics?"

"Psychics? I know a few."

Static.

"Are they... would you hunt them?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

Static.

"If they're using their abilities for good or for bad."

"Can they control their abilities?"

"Boy, your daddy hunting a psychic now?"

Static.

"No. Just wondering. Sorry, Uncle Bobby."

"Most psychics can learn to control it. Sometimes the few that can't..."

Static.

"You got anything else on your mind?"

"No, Uncle Bobby."

"You and your brother doing alright?"

"Yes, Uncle Bobby. Have you- have you heard from Mr. Frank?"

Static. Then, in a low voice,

"No, Son. I'm sorry. You and Adam take care of each other. And call me anytime, you hear?"

"Thanks, Uncle Bobby."

Click.


	3. Storm Surge

**Storm Surge**

storm surge

**NOUN**

A rising of the sea as a result of wind and atmospheric pressure changes associated with a storm.

_Oxford Dictionary_, 2019

* * *

"Sam, I've come to a decision." Sam looked up from the kitchen table.

"Yessir?" Dad sighed heavily. Sam looked back down at his homework.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy."

"Yessir."

"I've decided you're plenty old enough to start hunting with me." Sam felt a thrill of fear. He was glad that his dad would trust him to hunt but he didn't want to, not without-

He knew what Dad did and why they moved around so much. Adam still didn't know, and Dad had promised to keep it that way. But maybe Sam would learn to control his abilities and Dad would-

"Sam! Five o'clock, before school. We need to brush up on your training."

"Yessir."

* * *

Sam counted again. Two dollars and twenty-five cents. He could at least get a jar of peanut butter. They still had some toast back at the apartment, and he could always make Adam a peanut butter sandwich. He himself had eaten as much as he could at lunch. Which wasn't much because They had come to his table about halfway through and smashed his food all over his face. But what he'd gotten down would hold him over till the next school lunch. And he knew better than to ask Dad for more money.

"Come on, Adam." His grabbed Adam's hand and together they marched into Walmart, just as they'd done so many times before. They very carefully avoided other customers. They'd been accused of stealing one too many times. Not that it was never true, but Sam did his best to avoid it. He didn't want to get caught. He wouldn't leave Adam alone like-

The walk home seemed very long. Sam's body was sore from training that morning. Adam was chattering away, and Sam was happy that Adam was in such a good mood, but it made his head ache, too.

Dad was angry when they got back to the apartment. Sam made Adam a sandwich but then he had to shoot for two hours and Dad shouted at him when he missed too many times. As punishment, Dad set him seven pages of Latin to translate. Sam finished it all, but he fell asleep halfway through his English homework.

* * *

"Mr. Winchester."

Sam looked down at his hands. They were trembling. His wrists were thin and bruised. The cuff of his sweatshirt was stained.

"Mr. Winchester!" His head snapped up.

"Yessir?"

"Would you care to participate?"

"Yessir. Sorry. What was the question?"

"We're reading our responses to the review questions. Number eight."

"I'm sorry, I didn't finish number eight."

"Did you even do the reading?" Sam felt himself blush, but he forced himself to look Mr. Fitz in the eye.

"No, sir. I'm sorry."

"See me after class, Sam. Marie? Number eight?" Sam's stomach growled. The English barons rebelled and forced King John to sign the Magna Carta, Marie read. Three of the conditions set out in the Magna Carta remain part of British law to this day. Which three? Marie didn't remember. It was okay, Tyler knew. And the Magna Carta is important why, Carrie? Sam's head ached.

"Sam?" The classroom was empty.

"Yessir?"

"Are you alright? You haven't been doing any of the assignments. It's unlike you."

"Sorry, sir."

"Trouble at home?" Sam's dad was a hero. He fought things that Mr. Fitz didn't even know about. He was training Sam so he could do the same thing. Adam.

"No, sir. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

* * *

They were moving again. Dad had somehow heard that CPS might be sniffing around. He'd given Sam another beating. Sam's ears were ringing.

"You've been telling your teachers stories, freak?" Adam was still awake upstairs.

"No, sir," Sam said, quietly. He went up to pack his things and carefully folded Adam's drawings into the side pocket of his duffel. Adam's little stuffed lion in Sam's sweatshirt pocket so Sam could give it to him later in the car. Dad's clothes folded and stuffed into his duffel. The weapons cleaned and packed. The duffels loaded into the trunk.

When he finished, Sam went back upstairs and got Adam up. He made him drink the last of the milk and use the bathroom. Then he wrapped Adam in a blanket and tucked him into the backseat. He was asleep within minutes. Sam was about to slide in beside him when Dad came out.

"In the front seat with me, Son. We're going to review wendigos and shapeshifters."

When they finally got to the motel, Sam carefully lifted Adam out of the back seat and stumbled inside. Dad helped Sam bring the duffel bags in. He even said, "Goodnight, Son," after they'd salted the door and the window.

* * *

Sam was running down the street. This was two- no, three moves ago, when they'd lived in Virginia and Dad had killed a rugaru and Dean had, well. His heart was beating loud and echoing in his ears. This was Adam's school. Sam had waited here every day to walk him home. He ran towards it. Behind him, someone laughed, sending shivers down Sam's spine.

"Sam," said Dean, bursting out of the school playground, "Wake up."

Sam did wake up. His mouth was dry and his eyelids felt heavy. There was smoke in the air. Fire. Adam was curled up with his face in Sam's underarm and Dad was snoring on the other bed.

"Dad! Dad!" Sam had Adam in his arms and was out the door in seconds, and Dad followed with the duffel bags. Then Dad was on him in a fury. Adam was crying. Dad hit Sam across the face.

The drive to the next town was a blur. Dad stuffed Adam into the passenger seat and cuffed Sam to the back door with the iron handcuffs. Adam was still crying. Sam tried to hand him his stuffed lion, but Dad slapped him and told him not to move.

When they finally got to the motel, Dad carried Adam and the duffels in before coming back for Sam. He jerked him up and led him by the handcuffs into the room. Then he cuffed him to the toilet pipes and salted him into the bathroom. Adam was staring from the bed. Sam smiled the best smile he could and held out the lion. Adam turned away and crawled under the covers.

Now Sam thought he would cry. He was one of "the few that can't" that Uncle Bobby had needed to- well, Uncle Bobby hadn't said, but Sam knew. But no tears came.

The bathroom floor was cold, and Sam shivered through the night. He was almost glad Dean wasn't there.


	4. Black Clouds

**Black Clouds**

Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,

His day's hot tafk hath ended in the Weft:

The owl, night's herald, fhrieks, 'tis very late;

The fheep are gone to fold, birds to their neft;

The coal-black clouds that fhadow heaven's light,

Do fummon us to part, and bid good night.

_Venus and Adonis_, William Shakespeare, 1593

* * *

"Hunters hunt them. We do the dirty business no one else knows about or is brave enough to do. You understand me, Son?"

Sam blinked, confused. He already knew this. Dad had said these exact words to him when Dean-

"Yessir," Adam said. Sam shot up into a sitting position and bumped his head against the sink.

"Dad!"

"Shut up, Sam."

"But, you promised- !"

"I said shut up!" Dad backhanded him. Sam began to cry.

"Dad, please, he's just a kid!" Dad hit him again.

"You're not my son. Don't call me that." Sam's head was throbbing and his vision was blurring and his body was stiff from a night on the cold bathroom tile and if he wasn't Dad's son then what was he?

"You're a monster. You burned down the entire motel. Someone's in critical condition in the hospital. I always knew this would happen, you little freak!" A small part of Sam had known it too. To his surprise, Dad knelt down and unlocked the cuffs.

"Stop crying. Get up and get the things packed. Then get Adam into the car."

Dad was still giving him a chance.

* * *

Dad was upset and Sammy was crying. He was pretending not to, but Adam could tell because he kept sniffling. Dad got mad and yelled at him because he kept making that sniffling sound, so Adam got Sammy some toilet paper from the bathroom to blow his nose. It didn't help at all because Sammy was trying to pack up the car and Dad said that Adam shouldn't talk to Sammy anymore because he was a monster. Adam was afraid so he stopped talking. How could Sammy be a monster? Adam wanted Lion but Sammy had him and he couldn't even ask Sammy for Lion. It wasn't fair.

Finally Sammy finished packing the bags. His eyes looked very red when he smiled at Adam. He said, "Come on, Adam," like normal. A monster wouldn't say that. And after he tucked Adam into the back of the car he gave him Lion without Adam having to say anything. Then Dad came out of the motel. Sammy shut the car door so Adam couldn't hear what they said but he saw Dad slap Sammy. He buried his face in Lion's orange fur. Then he heard the trunk open and slam shut a few seconds later. The car shook. Dad came around, got into the front seat, and started the engine. Adam looked around for Sammy, but Dad was already driving away.

"Dad, you forgot Sammy!"

"No, Adam. He's in the trunk. He's a monster, and that's where monsters have to go." Adam held onto Lion and thought about everything Dad had told him that morning. About monsters and hunting. Suddenly angry, he threw Lion onto the floor.

"Dad, what if the monsters come after me? They could get me!" Dad looked at him in the rear-view mirror.

"Try to sleep, Adam," was all he said. Maybe Sammy was a good monster, like in the book Miss Christie read to them for story time. Maybe Sammy would protect Adam from the bad monsters.

They didn't stop at all that day, except once, when Adam needed the toilet. At night, they finally pulled into a motel. Dad got Adam settled in bed, then went out and brought the duffel bags in. Adam waited. Finally, Dad came in leading Sammy by the handcuffs. Sammy smelled bad and his face was very red as if he'd been crying.

"Please sir, can I go to the bathroom? And can I have some water?" Sammy was saying. Dad didn't respond but he jerked Sam into the bathroom and let him use the toilet. Then he filled a cup with water from the sink. Sammy drank it really fast. Dad cuffed him to the pipes again and poured salt all around him. Adam knew what the salt was for, now. Dad turned out the light and told them to go to sleep.

In the morning, Dad made Sammy shower. Adam was glad, because he smelled bad. Then he sent Sammy out to get breakfast. Adam was hungry. They hadn't eaten anything the day before except the snacks Dad had gotten for Adam at the gas station. Dad carefully counted out the money and gave it to Sammy.

"I'm trusting you," he said. Sammy nodded, pulled his hoodie on, and left the room. Dad said that Adam needed a shower too, so Adam got down from the bed and took a shower and got dressed. When he came out, Sammy was cuffed to the radiator and breakfast was on the table. Adam ate until he was full, and so did Dad. Afterwards, Dad gave Sammy the leftovers. Adam thought that wasn't really fair, but Sammy didn't complain. Then Dad told Sammy that he was going to be responsible for research from now on.

"Please, can I also call about school while we're here? I have all the information and I can register us." Dad slammed his hands down on the table and Adam and Sammy both jumped. Dad took a deep breath.

"You can call to register Adam. You're not going back to school." Sammy's face turned very white. Adam had never seen anybody's face so white. His mouth was opening and closing but no words were coming out. Finally, he said, "N-no more school? Ever?"

Dad got up from where he'd been organizing the research. He gave Sammy a terrible look. Adam was afraid he would hit Sammy again. He wished Sammy would stop asking questions.

"Do you think I would jeopardize an entire school like that?" Adam wasn't sure what that meant but Sammy shook his head. Dad unlocked Sammy from the radiator and told him to sit at the table with the newspapers and the old books Dad carried everywhere they went. Adam was afraid of those books. He had seen a picture in one of them before but he hadn't known it was real then. He'd still had nightmares for weeks and had snuck in to sleep with Sammy every night. Now where could he go when he had nightmares? Would he sleep with Sammy in the bathroom?

Sammy sat down at the table and called the school for Adam. He had to explain to the lady that their Dad moved a lot for work and that was why Adam had already switched schools so many times by first grade. Adam wondered if that was lying. Sammy had told him it was bad to lie. He had kind of lied to Adam about the monsters. But so had Dad and Dean. Maybe it was okay for grownups to do it. Sammy said, "Thank you, ma'am," and, "Goodbye," and then he hung up the phone.

"What do you think, Adam? Are you excited to go back to school?"

"Don't talk to him, boy. How many times do I have to tell you? Leave him alone. Did you get everything transferred?"

"Yessir. They'd like me to bring him down to the school right now even though it's so late, so he can start getting to know the teacher and the other kids."

"You're not going anywhere. We don't need anyone asking questions or you drawing attention to us again. I'll take him and you better be done this research by the time I get back."

"Yessir." Adam wished Sammy could have taken him to school. He was happy that he got to go, still. He liked school and he would get to see other kids and do crafts and story time. But his stomach was hurting like it always did before he started a new school and only Sammy knew how to make it better. Dean used to but Dean was gone now. Dad made Adam go to the bathroom before they left, and then Dad went to the bathroom too. As soon as he shut the door Sammy was down on his knees beside Adam, holding Lion.

"Is your stomach hurting?" Adam nodded.

"It's okay, Adam. If you're scared, you tell Lion, and he'll tell me, okay? And then I'll see you when you get back. You go have fun at school, alright? I love you." Sammy looked like he was about to start crying again so Adam nodded and clutched Lion. Sammy gave him his backpack and Dad came out of the bathroom and said it was time to go.

It was only after they had gotten to school that Adam remembered. The last person to tell him, "I love you," had been Dean, before he'd gone away.


	5. Fierce Winds

**Note: Apparently writing a decent plot is hard. Who knew? Hopefully this makes sense. Enjoy! **

* * *

**Fierce Winds**

"There will be snow driving in from all directions, fierce winds, and cold colder than you have ever imagined cold could be, an icy cold so cold your lungs will ache when you breathe, so cold that the tears in your eyes will freeze."

_Norse Mythology_, Neil Gaiman, 2017

* * *

Dean was having the dream again. Not the good one, where he saved Lily from a werewolf and she thanked him with lots of kissing. Not the strangely sad one where he was playing catch with Sam and Adam in the backyard in Lawrence and then Mom and Dad called them in for dinner. Not even the really weird one with Robert Plant and Batman and Scooby Doo. This dream was much, much worse, because it was real.

It always went the same way. Sammy disobeyed. Dad, who rarely even whacked them, used the belt on him. Sammy cried. Dean yelled at Dad for the first time in his sixteen-year old life. Dad said that Dean coddled Sammy. Dean said that Dad was a horrible father and Mom would never have wanted this. In the dream, he always tried to stop himself before he could say that. But he always said it anyway.

Dad sent Dean away, and this time, it was for an entire year. Dean hugged Adam, who cried. Dean shook hands with Sammy, who was very pale. Dean left without a word to his father. Dean hated this dream.

He knew that it was just a dream and he needed to wake up. Frank would climb the ladder into the loft if he didn't get up on time, and that was always unpleasant. He forced himself awake.

Good thing, too. Frank was calling him. Dean flipped over and peered blearily through the curtains. It was still dark. He rolled back over and closed his eyes for another moment. Sammy and Adam. Six months to go.

Frank called again, less politely than before. Not that Frank was ever polite. Dean, on the other hand was very polite - at least to Frank's face. But Sammy wasn't here to laugh at what he called Frank behind his back.

"Coming, sir!" It took Dean a few minutes to get dressed and get down to the kitchen. Frank's idea of breakfast consisted of congealed oatmeal or cold canned beans, but Dean was a hunter to the core and ate just about everything. He was thankful, however, that Frank couldn't go without hot coffee in the mornings. They ate in silence as the world outside began to wake up and the sun slowly rose, almost as sluggishly as Dean had. Frank lived in western Montana off of a road christened "Whiskey Gulch," which Dean privately thought was both ironic and accurate. The cabin wasn't far from the highway, which was important to Frank for practical reasons. It was also surrounded by mountains, which was important to Dean for no practical reason whatsoever besides the spectacular views. The sun rose over the mountain to the East (which had no name apparently, or Frank just didn't know it) and set over Trapper Peak, and if Dean tended to linger over his morning coffee or the evening chores, well, Frank never brought it up.

"Chores," Frank said. Dean grunted an affirmative and downed the last of his coffee. The washing up consisted of cleaning the two dishes, spoons, and cups that he and Frank used for every meal. Then he swept the kitchen and went out back to chop more wood. Frank's cabin was heated by a wood stove and Dean had gotten plenty of exercise chopping wood since winter had started. He soon lost himself in the rhythm of his task, Bon Jovi running through his head with the added percussion of the hatchet thumping satisfyingly into the wood.

"You got something against that stump, Dean?" Dean swung around.

"You got a death wish, Caleb? Don't sneak up on me like that. I could've sliced and diced you," he said, dramatically.

"Be more aware of your surroundings. Where's Frank?"

"Where he usually is." Caleb went inside and Dean, suddenly deflated, lodged the hatchet into the stump and followed him.

By the time he'd washed up and come in, Frank and Caleb had apparently finished their discussion. They shifted uncomfortably when he made eye contact.

"Sit down, Dean," said Frank. Dean pulled up a chair and tried to prepare for bad news. None of them were about to ruminate in an uncomfortable silence and Dean was grateful when Frank dove right in.

"Caleb tells me you're gonna end up involved whether we want you or not. And honestly, you're as ready as you'll ever be, boy. Caleb's carrying a message from Jim Murphy. I'm just gonna say it – it's fire demons." Dean's heart lurched but he thought he did pretty well keeping his face expressionless. Frank and Caleb were both watching him and seemed satisfied enough with whatever they saw to continue.

In the story that followed, Dean learned that Pastor Jim and generations of hunters before him had been tracking demons by omens and more recently by electrical storms. Pastor Jim was currently tracking new fires that were more extensive than anything that had been recorded for nearly two hundred years. In fact, since the Great Chicago Fire in the 1800s, no activity had been recorded until several deaths occurred in 1983, which was obviously the same year that Dean's mom had died. Then, there had been neither hide nor hair of the demons for nearly twelve years. Now, without any apparent reason, demons were starting fires again, targeting families all over the country. Rufus had even heard reports of fires in Italy and Turkey.

Dean knew he had to focus on the case, so he tried to compartmentalize the fact that these were probably the same demons that had killed his mom in a brutal fire in his childhood home twelve years before. If Frank and Caleb were going to include him, he had to prove to them that he could keep a level head.

Who was he kidding – he was never going to have a level head when it came to this. But he could keep a straight face and pretend to be calm, so he did.

"Jim says there's also vague mentions in the lore of fire demon activity in the 1600s - in London." Frank said this like it meant something.

"Okay?"

"The Great Fire of London, in 1666?" Dean vaguely remembered something like that from history class.

"So, you're saying this has the potential to become something big."

"Yes. Jim has been tracking a string of fires from Virginia to Wisconsin. Last week a motel in Indiana burned down and five people were injured."

"Okay. What are we gonna do about it?"

* * *

Adam's stomach was hurting.

"Bath, Adam!" Dad shouted.

"No, Dad! Please!"

"Adam, I'm not gonna ask again." Adam went into the bathroom and shut the door. Even though the running water was pretty loud, he could still hear Dad hitting Sammy. Dad hit him lots of times, but Sammy didn't scream at all. Finally, Dad knocked on the bathroom door. Adam climbed out of the tub and took his time getting dressed and brushing his teeth because Sammy didn't like it when Adam came out right away and saw him crying. When he opened the door, Sammy was kneeling on the floor, cuffed to the radiator. He was shivering and his face was very white. Adam could see tears running down his cheeks.

"Get in bed, Adam," Dad said, and unlocked Sammy. Adam climbed into the big bed all by himself while Sammy used the bathroom. When he came out, Dad cuffed him to the radiator again and poured the salt around him. Sammy curled up into the corner that the wall made with the radiator. Adam finally found Lion under his pillow. Then Dad turned out the light and went outside. Adam could hear him on the phone. He talked on the phone every night, now.

"You okay, Adam?" Sammy whispered.

"Yes."

"Okay. You find Lion?"

"Yes. Does it hurt bad, Sammy?" The streetlight outside shone through the motel window, and Adam could see Sammy sit up, then curl back into the corner. He didn't answer.

"Sammy?" Adam thought he heard Sammy crying a little bit.

He stopped asking.


	6. Storm

**Note: I promise it will get better! Although, it may get worse, first.**

* * *

**Storm**

"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you."

_The Count of Monte Cristo_, Alexander Dumas, 1844

* * *

Dad came back in a bad mood.

Sam wasn't sure why. He'd been almost absolutely certain that his research had been correct. And Dad hadn't come home with any major injuries, and Sam had finished the research so quickly this time.

Dad said that the hunt was over, but he shouted when Sam asked about lunch.

Sam said yessir. Sam always said yessir. He tried not to think about how long it had been since he'd eaten and clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking.

Dad went outside and made a phone call. He'd been making lots of phone calls lately, to another hunter, Sam thought. Someone named Walker. Sam wished Dad didn't need other hunters as backup. Dean used to-

Dad came back in with the weapons duffle and tossed it onto the bed. He cuffed Sam to the headboard and told him to clean the weapons. Then he went out.

Sam cleaned the weapons. The motel room was cold and only one of the lamps had a light bulb.

Dad finally came back. He took the weapons duffle back out to the car. It was almost three o'clock.

"I need you to get Adam from school today," Dad said. Sam was shocked. Dad had told him he could not be outside during school hours because it might draw attention, and because he could not be trusted.

"But sir," Sam began.

"I'm trusting you to get Adam. I have some other things to take care of. If anyone asks you any questions you tell them you're homeschooled. You understand me?" Sam said yessir. Dad uncuffed him from the headboard.

The air was fresh and the sun was shining and Sam wanted to run all the way to Adam's bus stop. But he knew he couldn't draw any attention. He kicked at the snow and felt some of it seep into his shoe. His sock would get wet. Sam had read about trench foot in a history book. Soldiers would get horrible infections from standing in wet socks in the trenches. Was that World War I or World War II?

World War I. That was where they had trench warfare and no man's land. Mr. Fitz had made them watch a movie. Everyone had groaned because the movie had subtitles. _Joyeux Noel_, that was the movie. Sam could spell it, but he didn't know how to say it, because it was French. They must have said it during the movie, but he couldn't remember how they said it. French pronunciations were weird. Dean always said-

Sam pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands and stuffed them in his pockets. He had really liked that movie. The boys had said it was too cheesy and the girls had said it was too violent, but he had liked it. Sam passed a café and his stomach growled. The coffee and the bread smelled really good. He stopped for a minute under the awning to look in through the window and check the time. Ten minutes to three, and he was only a block away from Adam's bus stop. The bus might not even come until a quarter after. He stared at the people inside and wondered if they would kick him out if he tried to go in. His breath steamed on the window. It wouldn't be right for him to go in anyway - he didn't have money to buy anything and he would be putting them all in danger if he did. He tried not to think about warm bread.

He felt a blast of warm air when the door swung open and a man walked out of the café, nearly bumping into him. The man was only wearing a light raincoat, even though it had started snowing again. He had a coffee in one hand and was balancing another coffee and a paper bag in his other hand. Maybe that was technically a trench coat. It didn't have a hood and snow was sticking in the man's hair. Maybe he was taking the other coffee to his wife. Or maybe it was for a coworker. Sam watched him walk over to one of the picnic tables. He put the extra coffee and the paper bag down and took a sip of his own coffee. Both he and Sam jumped when his phone rang.

"Hello? Yes, of course. I will be there in ten minutes. No, do not concern yourself about it. Certainly." Sam thought that the man had a very formal way of talking. The man got off the phone and looked straight up at Sam.

"Would you like to have these, young man?" Sam realized that he had been standing there, staring. He wasn't sure what to do. Maybe he should ignore the man. Dad had told him no lunch today. Dad had said not to draw attention.

"I have had a change of plans. I will not be able to use these. They will go to waste if you do not take them."

"Th-thank you, sir. Yes, please," Sam said, feeling guilty even as he said it. But maybe Dad had said no lunch because there was no money to pay for it. This was going to be thrown out anyway. It would go to waste. The man smiled at Sam and walked down the street, his trench coat billowing behind him in the wind. As soon as he was far enough away Sam ran over to the table. He had to eat before he picked up Adam or Adam might accidentally say something about it in front of Dad. Not that Dad wouldn't beat him anyway before bed. He ripped open the paper bag. There was a steaming grilled cheese and a chocolate muffin. The smell overwhelmed him, and he had to sit down. He tore into the grilled cheese, then stopped, mid-bite.

There was a man across the street. He was dressed even more poorly than Sam was, and he was shaking so violently that Sam could tell, even from across the street. Sam's heart was pounding. The man was probably a druggie, and Sam was hungry. He was so hungry, and the first bite of the sandwich was already burning its way down his throat, warming him to his core. But the man was so old, and people were passing him without a second glance unless they happened to jostle him. Sam watched for an eternal moment as no one stopped to help and the man just shook and shook.

Sam closed his eyes. He knew what he needed to do. He finished chewing what he already had in his mouth, savoring it as slowly as he could. Then, shaking, he wrapped the sandwich back in the bag with the muffin. The chocolate muffin, but Dean said chocolate was for girls, anyway. He took in a deep breath to smell the coffee. Then he steeled himself and crossed the street.

"Sir? Are you hungry?" The man looked up at Sam, surprised. Sam set his jaw. He felt almost angry as he handed the man the coffee and the paper bag. But he took the bag and the coffee with shaking hands and said thank you so many times that Sam finally smiled and told him not to mention it. He had a few more minutes before Adam's bus would come, so he slid down the wall next to the man and had one of the more surreal conversations of his life.

"I'm not a druggie," the old man told Sam, insistently. "I'm just down on my luck. Sometimes all you need when you're down on your luck is a little bit of kindness." Sam thought of the man in the trench coat and nodded. They shared the coffee, and Sam burned his tongue, but he couldn't have cared less about that or about diseases or germs or about what Dad would say. Then it was time for Sam to go, and as he stood up, he shook hands with the old man. On a sudden impulse, as if what he had done wasn't impulsive enough already, he pulled off his hoodie and held it out. Dad would punish him for losing it, but he didn't care. The man chuckled.

"Son, you've done more for me today than anyone has all year. You keep that, and you take care of yourself, you hear?" Sam nodded, and they shook hands again. Heart pounding with both guilt and exhilaration, he made his way down the block.

He made it just in time. The bus had pulled up and children were pouring out. There was Adam, talking to another little boy. He looked happy, and it made Sam smile. When he saw Sam, his face lit up even more and he ran full speed into Sam and hugged him tight. Sam grunted and squeezed back. Dad had told him to stay away from Adam, but Dad had also sent him to pick Adam up from school, and Dad wasn't there to watch. He held onto his little brother for a minute.

"How was school?" But Adam was digging in his backpack.

"Wait, Sammy, I have to give you something." He was scattering drawings and crayons across the sidewalk. Sam shifted impatiently.

"Hurry up, Adam. We need to get back." Adam nodded and pulled out a small card.

"Here. We traced our hands to draw turkeys, Sammy! It was so cool. And Miss Beth said we can give the card to someone that we're thankful for. Lizzy and Joe made some for their moms but Miss Beth said it was okay if I made one for you." Sam took the card. There was Adam's handprint, traced and colored with orange and purple crayons. Adam was nothing if not creative. Sam's hands were shaking. They were always shaking now, but he was so, so thankful for Adam and for the snow that had stopped and the sun that had come out.

"Thank you, Adam. I love it." He carefully folded the card and tucked it into his back pocket.

"And tomorrow is Thanksgiving and Miss Beth said we have to draw three things that we are thankful for. Lizzy didn't know what to draw but I already drew all my three things. I drew Lion of course. And I drew my crayons, and then I drew the car because Dad says we should be thankful for the car. And Miss Beth said that the penguins came on a ship to America and had a big dinner with the Indians and that is how Thanksgiving started. And at recess Joe and me played cowboys and Indians. And Miss Beth said I was very good today and she put my name on the green chart. I'm glad you came to get me today because I wanted to give you the card." Sam held Adam's hand tightly as they crossed the street. They were almost back to the motel, but he knew better than to dawdle. Adam kept talking but Sam struggled to focus on the story. Were they going to move again? What did Dad have to do so urgently that he'd sent Sam to get Adam this time? He tried to focus on Adam beside him and the sun on his shoulders. Adam was still talking.

"Lizzy wanted to play cowboys and Indians too, but we told her it was just for boys. But Miss Beth told us Lizzy could be a cowgirl. I didn't know there could be cowgirls. Lizzy- "

"That's cool, Adam. We're here now - you're gonna go wash up and I'll get you a snack, okay? Then you're gonna do your homework, alright?"

"Okay, Sammy," Adam replied, suddenly solemn. Sam reached over Adam's head to open the door to the motel room and Adam stepped timidly in, taking off his backpack. Sam took a deep breath and followed him. Dad was sitting at the table with his phone in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniel's in the other.

"Adam, go take a bath," Dad said. Sam's heart pounded. Dad usually didn't send Adam for a bath until after dinner. Did he somehow know about what Sam had done on the way to the bus stop?

"But Dad- " Adam whined. It was the same argument, every night. Sam wished Adam would just go take his bath and get it over with.

"Go, Adam. Don't make me ask again." Adam threw his backpack on the bed with a huff and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

"Come here, Sam," Dad said. He hadn't called Sam by his name since the motel fire three weeks ago. He cuffed Sam with the iron handcuffs, which wasn't what he usually did for a punishment.

"Are we moving again?" There was the sound of the water filling up the tub in the bathroom.

"Be quiet, boy," Dad said. He was being weirdly gentle with the cuffs, and his hands were shaking. From the liquor, Sam guessed. He looked at Sam for a long, strange moment. Then he picked up his phone and sent a text. A moment later there was a knock at the door.

"Dad?"

"Be quiet. Don't make me tell you again." Dad's words were rough but quiet, and he was still being strangely gentle, even as he got up and opened the door. The man that walked in was definitely a hunter. He wore charms around his neck and Sam could tell that he was packing. He was a big, African American guy with strikingly intense eyes. He shook hands with Dad and handed him a roll of cash. Dad took it, his hands still shaking. Were they going to work with this guy on a case? Sam was embarrassed to be in handcuffs in front of a stranger. Dad turned back to Sam.

"You're going to go with Walker, now. You're going to obey him and do whatever he tells you, you hear me? Walker's experienced with dealing with monsters and he'll stop you from hurting anybody else. It's good for research, alright? He'll figure out what's wrong with you and maybe even teach you to control it."

"Wha- what?"

"It's not safe to keep you here with Adam. And sometimes I'm so angry about what you did to… Mary that I can't even stand to look at you. Honestly, why do you think Dean left?" Sam's heart stuttered. Adam dropped something in the bathroom that clattered on the floor, but the water kept running. Dad kept talking.

"You're tearing this family apart. This will be better for you, Sam, and better for us. I know you don't want to cause any more fires, but you can't control it. And Walker will keep you out of trouble. This is better, I know it is. You'll see, Sam. It'll be better. It will be."

"Dad, please! Dad!" Walker had him by the arm now.

"Be quiet, Sam. I need you to obey me on this." The water was running in the bathroom.

"Please, Dad! I'll be good! I won't hurt anybody, I swear! Please, please!" Dad was handing Walker Sam's duffle. The running water had become a roaring in Sam's ears.

"Please, Dad, don't send me away," Sam sobbed. Dad and Walker were talking but Sam couldn't hear what they were saying. He couldn't see what they were doing through the film of tears in his eyes. Dad was still speaking, calmly. Walker was leading him to the door. Sam tried to blink the water out of his eyes. The roaring in his ears was becoming louder and louder. They were out in the parking lot. The sun was reflecting harshly off of the asphalt. Sam couldn't breathe. Walker was opening the trunk of his car. He was lifting Sam into the trunk. Sam could see Dad, watching, standing at the motel room door.

"Please, please," he sobbed. Adam would be all alone, now. Would Dad hurt him? Had Dean really left because of Sam? Walker closed the trunk and Sam, in agony, cried himself to sleep.


	7. Hurricane

**Note: Thanks to everyone who is reading! One note - I can't remember how old Caleb is in canon but here he is closer to Dean's age, maybe in his early twenties. **

* * *

**Hurricane**

"Night-time. Why is it, I wonder…  
Always, always it is at night when  
The fury of a hurricane makes itself felt.  
Perhaps it is because the spirit of the storm  
Delights in the darkness, for there it can  
Unleash its rage most potently, most  
Anonymously, upon the element of earth?  
Or perhaps it is simply because we  
Humans are afraid of the dark."

_Stolen Moments,_ Stephanie Osborn, 2012

* * *

Driving through Montana never ceased to entertain Dean. They drove away from Whiskey Gulch Road and more importantly, away from Frank's personal whiskey stash, then took the 43 to the 15 and finally got on the 90. Getting on the 90 required driving through Butte, and Dean was beyond grateful for whoever had decided to use that word in nearly every mountain name in Montana. There was Big Butte, Horse Butte, Antelope Butte, Round Butte, Square Butte, and Porcupine Butte. A few years back, Sam had found a list of all the names in Montana that included the word Butte. He had printed it out at the library and it had been their only source of entertainment for the twenty hour drive down to Arizona, hence Dean's expertise on the subject. Sam's favorite had been Choke-to-Death Butte, complete with hyphens, but Dean himself preferred Skookum Butte and Adam had agreed with him. The prevalence of the name combined with Caleb and Dean in one truck for a fifteen-hour drive probably explained why Frank had chosen to drive his own car.

The drive to Singer Salvage was familiar and beautiful, but despite the cheerful mood and the stupid jokes, Dean felt more and more anxious as time went on. Dad had been in Virginia when Dean had left them, and that was where and when the fires had started. No one had been able to get a hold of him for nearly a month now. Apparently, Uncle Bobby had spoken to Sammy once in October and that was it. Was Dad in danger and didn't know it yet? Or was he hunting the fire demon without Dean? Dean wasn't sure which was worse, but either way he knew he had to be a part of everything. Before they'd left, Frank had less than politely informed him that he would either obey orders or be left behind, and he was determined to prove himself.

Pastor Jim, Rufus, and Bill Harvelle were all making the drive to Uncle Bobby's place as well. They would meet and go from there. The drive from Sioux Falls to the demon's last known location in Wisconsin Rapids was a little under seven hours, and Frank hoped that the next time it popped up they would be able to catch it in the act.

Uncle Bobby had promised to use the day that everyone would spend driving to research and prepare. Dean privately hoped that his "preparing" would include making his famous chili. After surviving on Frank's cold, sad excuse for food for six months, he'd give almost anything for a bowl of spicy chili and a piece or five of Uncle Bobby's cornbread.

Somewhere after they'd crossed into South Dakota, Caleb and Dean had run out of words and fallen into the silence of old friends. The radio was on, but in the quiet of his mind, Dean went back to that night in Virginia. Dad had been acting more strangely than usual, or maybe Dean had begun realizing how strange his normal behavior really was. He'd been unusually strict with Sam, punishing him for every small mistake. Dean knew that Sammy had been trying his best to live up to Dad's ridiculous expectations, but he'd gotten into a fight at school. When Dean had come home, Sammy had been on the floor and Dad had been standing over him. Dean had lost it then and there, hence his year-long staycation with Frank.

But he couldn't stop thinking about how Dad had been acting. He'd told Dean that Sammy was just going to hurt everyone around him if he didn't learn to control himself, and Sam had sobbed silently into the motel room carpet without saying a word. Dean had fought tooth and nail to stay, but Dad had promised that a year of separation would be good for them. That Sam would learn to control himself and that he wouldn't be rougher with Sam than he needed to be. Dean had made Sam promise to call Uncle Bobby if things got too bad. Six months later, and the memory of the look in Dad's eyes as he stood over his twelve-year old son still made him shudder. Six months later, and the memory of Sammy's face was unbearable to think about.

Six months later, and Dean didn't know where Dad fit into this mess. He could only hope that he was far away from Wisconsin and that Sammy and Adam were safe. But that would be the best-case scenario, and as a Winchester, Dean knew better than to expect the best-case scenario.

Caleb seemed to sense his uneasiness, but there was nothing to say. He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, sighed heavily, and turned up the radio.

* * *

Uncle Bobby had made chili. He'd had time to make not only chili but also cornbread and pie, and Dean wasn't sure what that meant. Had he been able to find information in the lore that quickly or had he exhausted all of his resources without finding anything? Uncle Bobby rolled his eyes and told him to quit his worrying and eat his dinner. Food first, then business, he said.

Never one to waste food, Dean quit his worrying and ate his dinner. Uncle Bobby snorted and gave him an extra helping of pie.

When they'd finished, they cleared the table and followed Uncle Bobby into what had probably been a lovely sitting room when his wife had been alive. Like the rest of Uncle Bobby's house, however, it was filled with books, overflowing off of the shelves onto tables, the floor, and under chairs. The room had that musty smell that only old books can create. They moved some books aside, Caleb creating a lopsided pile that miraculously stayed upright, and gathered around the desk.

Pastor Jim started by reiterating what Dean had already heard from Frank and Caleb, mostly for Bill Harvelle's sake. Then Uncle Bobby took over.

"For once, I think we're ahead of the game. I've been tracking it since Jim called me and I'm pretty sure I know what pattern it's following." He paused and pulled off his ever-present baseball cap to run a hand through his hair before sliding it back onto the permanently etched grooves of his hair. He sighed. Dean couldn't take it any longer.

"Well?"

Uncle Bobby looked at him almost as mournfully as Rumsfeld had when they'd driven into the salvage yard and Dean hadn't stopped to play catch with him. He shared a look with Pastor Jim, then turned back to Dean.

"You're not gonna like it, boy, but I think you need to know. It's following your daddy." Dean felt the blood rush from his face. As much as he and Dad had fought before Dad had sent him to Frank's, the idea of losing him too… Dean cleared his throat.

"Okay. So, have you been in touch with Dad?"

"That's the thing. Since Sam called a month ago, I haven't been able to get a hold of John. I only realized the demon was following him because I recognized some of the places where the demon popped up as hunts that I knew your dad had taken. I did a little extra research to connect the dots from there, and I'm pretty sure he just finished a salt and burn in Wisconsin Rapids." Wisconsin Rapids. Where the last fire had been. Dean suddenly felt angry.

"What are we doing here? Taking our time, eating chili and pie while my dad and my brothers are in danger?" Uncle Bobby raised an eyebrow at his outburst. Dean heaved in a breath and stared right back.

"None of us would just sit here while Sammy and Adam were in reach of that thing, Dean. As soon as I figured it out, I sent Joshua to Wisconsin to get a hold of your dad and warn him to lay low. But we really can't do anything yet. We need a way to kill this thing."

"That's the first thing you've said so far that makes any sense." Uncle Bobby ignored his comment and Caleb elbowed him in the ribs.

"So far, the demon hasn't touched your family. He's gone after innocents around them, but he's kept his distance. We sent Joshua alone because he was the closest but also because we were afraid a group of hunters would pressure the demon into doing whatever he plans on doing sooner. Joshua can hole up with your dad and your brothers in a motel room. They can ward themselves in and protect themselves with every hunter trick in the book. But that's only a holding measure. It doesn't make a bit of difference if we can't kill it. We can exorcise it, but according to the lore, fire demons tend to come back pretty quickly. That's why we're going to stay out of its path until we find a way to kill it."

"We don't like it any more than you do, Dean. But we need you with us on this. This thing is powerful. Joshua's going to copy Bobby's wardings in whatever motel room they hole up in, and even that might not be enough. One wrong move could put your family in even worse danger, and since it doesn't seem to be in a hurry yet, we're going to do this right," Pastor Jim added.

"What about the civilians that have been affected?" Caleb asked, quietly. Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim shared another long look. Pastor Jim sighed.

"No one has died yet, fortunately. But like Bobby said, we can't move against this thing until we know how to kill it."

"Do we know why the demon is after them? Or why there are other families being targeted?" Bill Harvelle asked. Dean felt like the conversation was almost moving too quickly for him to follow.

"We have a couple of theories. None of them are pretty. Dean, boy, sit down." Dean did sit down, although he wasn't quite sure how it happened. Caleb sat on the floor beside him, and the rest of the men found seats around the room. None of them said anything to disparage him, and Dean felt momentarily overwhelmed by their support for the Winchester family, undeserved as it might be and in spite of Dad's impressive ability to make enemies with nearly every other hunter he met.

The moment passed and they got down to business, looking for some clue that would help them get rid of this thing. Dean learned that almost every other family the demon had targeted had a similar story to his own. A parent had died in a fire in their six-month old baby's room. Twelve years later, fires were once again following each family. Dean had a sudden, horrible thought. This whole time they'd thought it had all been about Mom, but what if-

"Is the demon after Sammy? Is he after the kids?" None of the older men would meet his eyes. Caleb turned a little green, as if the idea hadn't occurred to him before. Dean felt like he was going to throw up too, but he swallowed it down. He needed to focus and to find out what they knew about Sammy.

"Uncle Bobby?" Uncle Bobby grimaced in that way he did when he had bad news, just like he had whenever Dad had called to say he wouldn't be back for another week, or when he'd taken Lady to the vet and come back alone.

"I'm sorry, Dean." The conversation wasn't making sense again. Dean's whole life purpose to get the thing that killed Mom wasn't making sense. Dean forced himself to focus.

"Sorry for what?" Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim shared another long look and Dean felt like he was losing his mind. "Just say it!"

"There aren't a lot of records from 1666 or from the Great Chicago Fire," Pastor Jim took over. "But what we do have indicates that there was one person at the center of each fire. There's nothing about it in the history books, but the lore indicates that those people may have also had something to do with starting the fire. There's talk of monsters in human flesh, bred by demons to destroy the world." He paused, almost as if he expected Dean to say something. Dean couldn't think of anything to say. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Your brother- Dean, this isn't how we wanted to tell you, but you need to know," Pastor Jim began. Dean was sick of hearing those words. He gestured impatiently.

"We think that Sam may be one of these children. We don't know if they are still human, or how the fire demons get a hold of them. Obviously, it begins at six months. We don't know much beyond that. And of course, we don't want anything to happen to Sam. We're hoping that killing the demon would break whatever influence it may have on him."

"And if not?" Dean asked, growing angrier and angrier by the second. "Are you going to put my… my little brother... down?"

"Now hold on a second, boy. No one said anything about… that. I for one don't plan on letting that happen, ever. But if he is, in fact, under the demon's influence, he's a danger to himself and to everyone around him. The day he called me, he was asking me about psychics and if they could learn to control their abilities. That may have just been Sam asking questions because he's Sam and he's always asking questions. But he seemed off to me, and I wonder now if he was beginning to do things that he had no control over."

Dean wanted to scream. He wanted to ask why Uncle Bobby hadn't said anything before. He wanted to ask how all of these plans had been made before they'd even got to Sioux Falls. He wanted to scream and kick Caleb's ridiculous tower of books and he wanted to be with his brothers, not here in Uncle Bobby's living room with chili sitting heavily in his stomach.

The six other men sat for a moment in silence while Dean battled through the new information. He wanted to find some fault in their plan, find some action that he could take instead of sitting there and sifting through the lore while Sammy and Adam were in danger. But he couldn't think of anything. Eventually he bowed his head, scrubbed his hands over his face, and nodded to the floor. Even as he accepted their plan, he silently vowed to himself to save Sammy, no matter what it took.

"Okay," he said, both to Uncle Bobby and to himself. "Okay."

They were all standing a second later, guns trained on the thing that appeared in the middle of the living room.


	8. Wind Shear

**Note: Warning that Walker is horrible, but it's off-screen. Thanks for reading! **

* * *

**Wind Shear**

wind shear

NOUN

_mass noun_

Variation in wind velocity occurring along a direction at right angles to the wind's direction and tending to exert a turning force.

_Oxford Dictionary_, 2019

* * *

Sam shivered.

He was hunched up in the corner of the room, handcuffed to the radiator, enclosed in a circle of salt.

Walker had also drawn a devil's trap underneath him. Sam had seen pictures in books, and Dad had once made him and Dean practice drawing them, but he'd never seen a hunter actually use one.

Walker had strict rules. Sam was not allowed to speak unless Walker asked him a direct question. He was not allowed to move unless Walker ordered him to do something. He was not allowed to cry when Walker was doing his experiments, or Walker would beat him. If he obeyed, Walker allowed him to eat and drink and use the bathroom.

Walker was out right now, which meant that he had gagged Sam. That was another rule. But it also meant that Sam could let himself cry a little bit. When he had no more tears, he wiped his face, leaned back against the wall, and tried to fall asleep.

It seemed like only a few moments later that the door slammed open and Sam started, sitting up. Walker was talking to someone over the phone and he had it on speaker.

"I'm just saying, Gordon," and Sam's eyes stung as he heard Ellen Harvelle's voice. "Keep an eye out for any demonic activity. There's something going on that's bigger than anything we've seen before." Without meaning to, Sam moaned through the gag. It had been so long since he'd heard a friendly voice and he missed Ellen so badly that it hurt. If he could, right now he'd even take Jo and her habit of poking him in the ribs. Walker scowled at him and kicked him. Sam moaned again.

"You alright, Walker? Am I interrupting anything?"

"No. No, it's just a monster I've got tied up here. Nasty little thing."

"I don't want to know. You disgust me, you know that?"

"You're the one that called me, Ellen."

"Well, I'm not really sure why I bothered. I wish I hadn't, now, you-" and Ellen went on to call Walker several impolite names, as calmly as if she were taking someone's order at the bar. Walker sputtered an indignant response but halfway through, she hung up. Sam smiled in spite of himself. Walker noticed and kicked at him again.

"You think that's funny? She was calling to warn me about demonic activity, and you know, I'm pretty sure that's you, freak. Shall we do another experiment to try and find out?" Sam felt the blood rush from his face and thought distantly that Mrs. Williams would have corrected Walker's grammar. It was incorrect to say, "Try and find out." He should have said, "Try to find out." He couldn't remember why, now. It had made sense when Mrs. Williams had explained it, but he couldn't remember what she'd said about it. He came back to himself to hear Walker laughing cruelly.

"That's right. Give me a second to eat before we get started." Even more cruelly, he sat down in front of Sam to eat his burger, almost in Sam's face. Sam forced himself to look away. His hunger had dulled to an ache in his stomach that had quickly become familiar. He tried to take his mind away, to go somewhere else, away from this motel room and away from Walker. He realized that he knew Walker's full name, now. Gordon Walker. Dimly he remembered a long car ride with Dean and Adam, pouring over a list of names in the back seat. Dean, laughing, "They seriously thought the word butte was better than the word hill?" Adam sniggering as Sam read the names aloud. There was something about Gordon's name, he thought. They'd made up a chant of all the names. Porcupine Butte, Square Butte, Skookum Butte, Choke-to-Death Butte, obviously, and oh! Gordon Butte, of all things. Sam felt a little bit hysterical and almost laughed out loud. He remembered not to at the last second and shook himself just as Walker threw his trash onto the floor and got up, stretching.

Sam knew what was coming next. Walker was determined to discover what capabilities and what weaknesses he had as a monster. It was as much a mystery to Sam as it was to anybody else, but Walker seemed to think that enough pain would get Sam to talk and explain his evil, monstrous plan to destroy the world. Sam still felt hysterical enough that the thought of his nonexistent evil plan almost set him laughing again. But then Walker was back with The Bag and Sam wasn't laughing anymore.

Walker liked to experiment with iron or silver knives and salt. Last time, the salt had hurt so badly that Sam had passed out before Walker had finished. He began shaking as Walker opened The Bag and took out his knives, salt, and to Sam's terror, a lighter. Walker saw him eyeing the lighter and he chuckled. Sam stared at the wall behind Walker's head and tried to think about Adam's silly laugh and Gordon Butte, but it was no use when Walker grabbed hold of Sam's foot and held the lighter up to it. Sam couldn't stop shaking, reflexively trying to jerk his foot away from Walker. He couldn't figure out if he should be fighting back, defending himself the way he'd been taught, or if he was really a monster and should just let Walker cut him and burn him and starve him. Walker put an end to his internal crisis by getting a firmer grip on his foot, sitting on top of his calf so that he couldn't see what Walker was doing with the lighter.

Sam may have been a fire-starting monster, but he was deathly afraid of fire. Fire had killed his mom. He focused on a stain on the ceiling as he felt more than saw Walker bringing the lighter closer to his skin. The next few hours were an eternity of agony, and it was a mercy when Sam finally passed out.

* * *

Anything that could just appear in Uncle Bobby's well-warded living room had to be a supernatural being, and a powerful one at that. Combine that with seven hunters, all packing and on high alert, and the thing had been shot several times before it had had the chance to say anything or they had realized that bullets were having no effect. The barrage of bullets stopped, and silence fell. The creature filled it.

"Robert Singer, James Murphy, William Harvelle. Caleb Black, Frank Deveraux, Rufus Turner, and of course, Dean Winchester."

"How did you get in here, and what do you want?" Uncle Bobby's eyes were flashing behind his baseball cap.

"My name is Castiel, and I can help you kill the demon." No one lowered their guns.

"What are you?"

"I am an angel."

"There's no such thing."

"You don't have to believe me."

There was silence for a moment. Then Bill Harvelle asked, "Why help us, and why now?"

The angel, if that's what it was, inclined its head.

"Demons run wild on the earth because the angels are not powerful enough to defeat them. It has long been foretold that a child would be able to defeat all demons on earth, closing the gates of hell forever." The angel paused, then lowered its head, almost as if in shame. "Angels are a proud race. In comparison, we find humans to be weak and unworthy," it said.

"Wow, thanks," Rufus muttered. The angel ignored him.

"Several children have been born throughout the centuries with the power to destroy all demons, but angels have chosen to leave them to the demons, ignoring them, or even purposely persecuting them. They are completely opposed to the idea of a human bringing them salvation. I have been ambivalent on this matter, until recently."

Another half-moment of silence passed before Pastor Jim asked the obvious question.

"And now?"

The angel turned his back on Uncle Bobby and Uncle Bobby's gun and faced Pastor Jim.

"Through mere coincidence of being in the right time at the right place, I have observed one of these children as my fellow angels persecuted him and demons pursued him. This human child is caught between cosmic forces, and yet without fail he has honored his father, cared for his brother, and shown extravagant kindness to those around him even as he was shown nothing but cruelty." Dean knew. Somehow he just knew. His heart dropped into his stomach and he spoke without realizing it.

"Sammy."

The angel turned towards him, setting his unsettling gaze on Dean, now.

"Yes."

"What's happened to him?" Dean felt as though it were someone else talking. The angel did not mince words.

"Under the influence of angels, your father abused him for several months after you left and has now sold him to a man named Gordon Walker, who believes that he is a monster and is also abusing him." Dean felt himself listing to the side. Caleb was there, then, holding him up. There was a rushing noise filling his ears and his vision blurred. Sammy, oh, Sammy...

"Dean! Dean!" Sound and sight and air came back in a rush. Dean found himself gasping, pushing Caleb away so that he could stand up on his own. Uncle Bobby was in front of him, shaking him.

"I'm okay, Uncle Bobby," he got out. Uncle Bobby searched his face for a moment, then let go of him. But he stayed by Dean's side, and Dean was grateful. He pulled in a breath of air, and somehow formed his next question. "Can you help us find Sammy?"

"I can. I do not believe that to be wise, however."

"Why not?" Somehow, Dean wasn't shouting.

"In keeping with the arguments your fellow hunters have presented, I believe that the first course of action is killing the demon that murdered your mother and so many other parents."

"Do you know what the demon's plan is? Why are so many other families affected if Sammy is the," and here Uncle Bobby had to swallow down obvious disgust, "foretold child, or whatever?"

"Every few years, an alignment of the stars signifies that one of these children has been born. The demons can narrow the options down to several children born on the same date, but they can never be sure exactly who it is. Often, they try to attack the child while it is a vulnerable baby, but a parent's intervention can save the child. A parent's sacrifice is a powerful thing. We believe that it creates a shield of protection over the child. However, it seems to wear away at around ten years." Here the angel paused, maybe to take in Dean's reaction. Dean wasn't sure what it was expecting. He felt a rush of love for his mother and a flood of terror for Sammy, who was twelve, now. The angel continued.

"Obviously, this is what happened with Samuel, and it is wearing off. This past week, the demon has focused more and more on your brother, who is, in this case, the child chosen to defeat the demons. I believe this means that he has figured out that the other children who share your brother's birthday are no longer a concern." Dean shifted impatiently. A chosen child and a mother's sacrifice to protect him, and what was this, _Harry Potter_? He was ready to kill this thing just for the clichés.

"So why hasn't the demon killed Sam yet?" Rufus asked. Castiel turned his gaze back towards Dean.

"Because," he said. "This child has within him the power to destroy all of demonkind. But he also can destroy all of the angels, if he so chooses."


	9. Rainbands

**Note: Thank you to everyone who is reading! Thanks also to everyone who reviewed so kindly! Please feel free to leave feedback or PM me with ideas/constructive criticism. And of course, enjoy! **

* * *

**Rainbands**

"These bands, commonly called rainbands, spiral into the centre of the storm. In some cases the rainbands are stationary relative to the centre of the moving storm, and in other cases they seem to rotate around the centre. The rotating cloud bands often are associated with an apparent wobbling of the storm track."

_Encyclopaedia Britannica_, Joseph Zehnder, 2019

* * *

They were moving again. Sam didn't know where. He didn't really care, either. The trunk was dark, and the cuffs rubbed against his wrists as the car jolted over a bad pothole or maybe just Walker's bad driving. He snorted, thinking about what Dean would say to that.

He had to pee, but there was no way to tell when Walker would stop. He shifted in the darkness and tried to remember the periodic table of elements. They had worked on memorizing it at the school in Ohio. The teacher, Sam couldn't remember her name, had given them a goofy song and Sam tried to remember it now. Eventually he gave up because he couldn't get past Gallium and he kept getting stuck on the third line of the chorus.

Then he was alone with his thoughts in the pitch-black trunk, aching where Walker had wounded him and trying desperately to ignore the agony of his burnt foot. He suddenly realized he was still wearing the same clothes he'd been in when Dad had… sold him to Walker. He shifted carefully, trying to reach his back pocket. He could just feel the outline of Adam's card. Somehow, he managed to work it out, and he fell asleep with it in his fist.

* * *

"And that would be bad, why exactly?" Uncle Bobby shouted. "When you've done anything but live up to your name? When you've been responsible for that boy's suffering? Why didn't you mention this earlier? No wonder the angels teamed up with demons, of all things, to terrorize these poor kids! Who chooses these children, anyway? It's not like Sam had any say in this!"

"Robert," said the angel firmly, but he seemed almost afraid, too. Could angels feel fear? "Robert Singer, I have been as honest with you as I know how to be. I do not have the support of any of my brothers in coming to you. This will not be an easy task, but I am doing it because I believe it to be right. In the end, Samuel may choose to end my race. I know that. I believe that first it is best to kill the fire demon, so that we may safely approach and rescue Samuel. Then he may make his choice. I intend to give him that choice, no matter what it may be."

"Why?" Dean found himself asking. He'd been silent for much of the argument, but suddenly he had to know why this angel was willing to risk everything.

"Why? Because, Dean, I have watched over humanity for millennia. I watched as tribes warred with one another, carving out civilizations. I watched as the Greeks and then the Romans built their empires. I watched as those empires fell. I watched as wars were fought and kings were dethroned, and your ancestors fought in the crusades. I watched as Winchesters marched through Germany and as your grandparents and later your mother and father came together in Kansas. I have seen the creation of the sun. And yet with all my knowledge and wisdom and power, I never understood love until suddenly, three terrified boys, alone in a dark motel room, played it out before my eyes. To care for another being, putting its needs before your own… I have seen true love, Dean, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to protect it."

That was a lot to take in. Dean's first crazy thought was that someone needed to teach this angel not to say everything that came to its mind. His second crazy thought was that the bit about true love sounded like something from _The Princess Bride_, and it was a little hard to believe that his family's stupid antics could cause such an epiphany for an angel. His third crazy thought was that it was really, really creepy to find out that this guy had been watching them all their lives. Dean pushed all three things to the back of his mind to process later and cleared his throat.

"Okay, then. Let's gank this demon." The men around him reached for their guns, a hunters' amen if there ever was one.

* * *

They had stopped. Walker flung the trunk open and jerked Sam out onto the grass. They were in the middle of a field. Sam wondered if they were still in Wisconsin.

"Walk," Walker said. Sam thought about Walker walking and tried not to laugh. He was incredibly thirsty, and it was making him lightheaded. They walked maybe two hundred feet away from Walker's car and then stopped. Sam still had Adam's drawing clenched in his fist, and he suddenly panicked, wondering what would happen if Walker were to see it. But apparently Walker didn't plan on uncuffing Sam. Instead, he pulled out his Taurus, a beautifully well-kept piece, and pointed it at Sam's head.

"Start a fire, freak." Walker clicked the safety off.

Sam blinked.

"Wha- what?"

"You heard me. I've had you for two weeks and I haven't seen you use your abilities once. Now, I think that's because you were lying to your daddy. You already know how to control it, don't you?"

"N-no. I don't know. I've always been asleep when it's happened." The situation was sinking in, and he tried not to show how scared he was. At least if Walker shot him point blank it would be quick. His knees were trembling, but he did his best to steady himself, to stand tall like Dean would. Walker began to count down.

"Ten, nine- I'll shoot, boy. You know I will." Sam was shaking so hard it was a miracle he was still upright. He'd closed his eyes and was concentrating as hard as he could, trying to find whatever part of him could control the fires, but he found nothing. Walker was still counting.

"Come on! I will shoot, you monster. Three," Sam shuddered and gripped Adam's drawing.

"Two," Tears were spilling uncontrollably down his face.

"One." Walker pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Where's Sammy?"

Dad was crying. It made Adam's stomach hurt, to see Dad cry. Sammy wasn't there, and Adam felt cold all over.

"Where's Sammy, Dad? Where is he?"

Dad only cried harder.

"Where is he, Dad?" Adam shouted, "I want Sammy! I want my brother!"

Dad cried and Adam pounded his fists against Dad's chest, screaming for his brother.


	10. Eyewall

**A shorter chapter this time, but we're coming close to the end, now. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Eyewall**

"The most dangerous and destructive part of a tropical cyclone is the eyewall. Here winds are strongest, rainfall is heaviest, and deep convective clouds rise from close to Earth's surface to a height of 15,000 metres (49,000 feet)."

_Encyclopaedia Britannica_, Joseph Zehnder, 2019

* * *

"Daniel Elkins?" Frank asked. "I know him. Specialized in vampires, I believe."

"Vampires? Thought they were extinct," whispered Caleb.

"Yes. He has the gun," said Castiel, ignoring both of them, "And we need to get to it before the demons do." Apparently, a gun made by Samuel Colt over a hundred years ago was just the thing to kill a fire demon. Dean fiddled with his amulet but had to stop when he accidentally stabbed it into his finger.

"Where's he live?" Uncle Bobby was already packing, and gestured Dean over to the kitchen to help. Dean bent down to lift the heavy bag of rock salt.

"Colorado," Frank said. "In Breckenridge." Uncle Bobby straightened.

"Breckenridge is central Colorado?" He asked. Frank nodded. Uncle Bobby frowned. "That's a ten-hour drive. Maybe eleven. Lots of mountains. And Sammy's gonna be in the opposite direction. Frank, you have his phone number?"

"My impression of the man – we won't get far over the phone."

"I can get us there, in the same way that I came here, if you will trust me to transport you." This time, it was Frank and Uncle Bobby sharing the long look. Dean shared his own long look with Caleb, who offered up a small grin in commiseration.

"Alright. How do we do this?"

"I need to have contact with you all. Gather what tools you need." They did. Then they stood around Castiel and each put a hand on his shoulders. It was beyond surreal. Dean fought the wild urge to giggle.

Then they were in Daniel Elkin's cabin.

* * *

Of course, the gun wasn't loaded. Of course, Walker was just trying to scare him into doing something. Sam's breath came in great heaving gasps, still coming down from the fear and adrenaline. His hands felt sweaty and he clutched Adam's drawing tightly. Walker punched him and he went down. The sky was beautiful, clear and blue despite the cold weather and the snow on the ground, the snow that was slowly seeping into his clothes.

"You little freak. You can't do anything yourself, can you? What, do you… control demons? Make them do your dirty work? There's no way you don't know anything, you monster! Tell me, tell me, tell me!" With each shout Walker punched Sam. His head whipped from side to side in such a steady rhythm that a Bon Jovi song started running through Sam's mind. Dean would tease him for that. He laughed, a little hysterically, tears running down his face, no longer caring about the punishment for crying. Walker punched him again, again, again.

Then, there was only fire.

* * *

Daniel Elkins hadn't had much of a choice. Nothing was going to come between Dean Winchester and his brother.

* * *

**Note: Thanks to everyone who is reading! Let me know what you think with a PM or a review!**


	11. The Eye

**Note: The next few chapters, beginning with this one, were incredibly difficult to write, but I'm happy with the way they turned out! Let me know what you think, and enjoy!**

* * *

**The Eye**

**eye**

**NOUN**

The calm region at the centre of a storm or hurricane.

_'__the smaller the eye, the more intense the winds'_

_Oxford Dictionary_, 2019

* * *

In the eye of a hurricane

There is quiet

For just a moment

A yellow sky

_Alexander Hamilton_, Lin-Manuel Miranda, 2015

* * *

Sam was awake. It was dark, but still, he knew he wasn't dreaming. Somehow, he was awake, and warm, and comfortable. There was no pain, which was strange. He drifted away.

Awareness was a fleeting thing, and he came and went with it as it pleased. He did not feel afraid, which was also strange. He did not know where he was. There was a faint yellow glow when he opened his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy and as they slid shut, he drifted away once more.

Then he was dreaming.

"Sam," a voice said. "Sammy."

It sounded like an old friend, like a voice he'd been hearing all his life.

"Yes," he murmured.

"Look at me," said the voice. Sam tried, but it was hard to concentrate, and he said so.

"Focus, Sam," said the voice.

Sam did. If he tried, he could see a vague shape in the dream. It was a man. He had seen the man before, and when he concentrated, the image became clearer. It was his history teacher. Mr. Fitz, who had made them watch _Joyeux Noel_, who had checked on Sam when he'd started missing assignments. Who had taught them about just wars and inalienable rights and had made history Sam's favorite subject.

But it wasn't just Mr. Fitz. Now his face was changing. It was that one Walmart cashier who had slipped Adam a pack of gum. It was the doctor who had set Dean's broken leg last year. It was Amy, who'd sat next to Sam at the library and shared a Hershey bar with him. It was Sam's soccer coach, it was Barry from Indiana, it was Adam's kindergarten teacher, it was the hotel manager from Illinois.

"Sam," the man said.

"Yes," Sam whispered. He was afraid, now.

"I have been watching over you. Can you see?"

Sam swallowed.

"You're a demon."

"Yes. I am."

"What do you want with me?"

The demon looked like George, now. It was disconcerting. George had been a skinny kid, even smaller than Sam. They had played soccer together in Virginia. Then George had punched a girl and Sam had punched George and when he'd gotten home Dad had used the belt for the first time. Sam's stomach threatened to rebel as the story began to take shape in his mind. But the demon was talking again, and he steeled himself.

"I want to help you."

"I don't think so. You're a demon."

"I am. But the forces influencing your father and Gordon Walker are angels."

Sam was taken aback. Angels weren't real.

"Angels don't exist," he said, trying to understand where the demon was going with this.

"Ah, but they do," said the demon, offering no further explanation.

Sam frowned.

"Angels are supposed to be good, then. If they are doing this to me, it must be because I am a monster."

The demon said nothing. It stared at Sam with George's face and Sam stared back. Its eyes were yellow – a dull, horrifying yellow. The whole dream was yellow.

Sam was tired of being afraid.

"What do you want with me?" He asked again.

"Sam, Sam, Sam," it said. Sam blinked, and now it looked like the old man. The one who'd eaten the grilled cheese sandwich and the chocolate muffin and had talked with him when he'd gone to get Adam from the bus stop. "I'm trying to help you defeat your true enemy. A few well-placed suggestions from hunters who weren't really human, and daddy dearest was convinced that his son was a monster. That his son was no longer his son. It didn't take much, really. There was so much grief, so much anger… Mary Winchester's death had already paved the way." Sam could barely process what the demon was saying. Wasn't he a monster? Hadn't Dad been right?

"Gordon Walker took even less effort. He'd had to kill his sister, you see. A vampire turned her, he put her down, and, well, he's been a little, shall we say, unstable, ever since. The angels connected your daddy with Walker and together they managed to convince each other of your monstrous nature far better than any of us could have." Sam couldn't breathe. Demons lied, they always lied. But maybe he wasn't a monster.

"And you, Yosemite Sam, have the power to destroy the angels. All of the angels who have done this to you, who have hurt countless children before you – you can wipe them out. It'll earn you eternal favor with the demons, that's for sure. We'll make any deal you want. We'll get rid of Walker for you. We'll get rid of your daddy if you want, and we can even bring back mommy Winchester. All you have to do is say the word. What'll it be, Sammy boy?"

Sam couldn't answer. It was too much. He wasn't a monster, but somehow, he still had supernatural powers. Angels weren't real but they had tortured him and other children before him. His dad was wrong. Dean was wrong. Had he even started any fires? But somehow, he had the ability to wipe out the angels. He hadn't even known they existed! The demon could bring Mom back, and then Dad and Dean would be happy. Maybe they would forgive him, and Adam would finally have a mom again, and maybe they would be a happy family. He wouldn't have to stay with Walker anymore. But how could he know the demon was telling the truth? He needed to find out more.

"What about the fires?" He asked. "If I wasn't a monster this whole time, what started the fires? What about my mom?"

"Ah, Sammy, you were always too smart for your own good. It was me. I started the fires. I was protecting you from the angels, kid. And just now, if it hadn't been for me, Walker would have killed you! Really, _you_ should owe _me_. Still, I promise I'll still throw in those perks I mentioned after the angels are gone."

Sam looked up at the demon's horrible yellow eyes and saw a kind old man. He saw George and Barry and Amy and Mr. Fitz and hundreds of other people who had shown him a little bit of kindness when he'd been down on his luck. Who had seen him at his weakest and had given him what little they could. Who had all been used by a demon just to get to Sam. He thought of the people back at the motel in Indiana, who'd ended up in the hospital. And he thought of Mom, of Dean, pale and shaky, telling Sam how she'd burned to death on the ceiling.

He was looking into the eyes of the creature that had done that to his family. That had put that look in Dean's eyes.

Maybe the angels deserved to die. But he wasn't about to do this demon any favors, either.

"No," he said.


	12. Lightning

**Thanks to everyone who is reading! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Lightning**

"Lightning is a rarity in hurricanes. When it strikes, it means something."

Matthew Cappucci, 2019

* * *

"They say that lightning never strikes in the same place twice, but the same is not true for courage. As it turns out, when courage strikes, it almost always begets more courage."

Kathi Appelt, 2008

* * *

They were crowded around the angel again. Elkins was coming too, however reluctantly. Dean suspected he wanted to make sure they returned the Colt. Frank had declared that Uncle Bobby would carry it, and no one had disagreed. Dean felt a burning anxiety to handle it himself, but another part of him said that he could trust Uncle Bobby to take care of it, to deliver justice for Mom and for Sam.

"Is everyone touching me?" Castiel asked. Dean once again fought the urge to laugh. Really, someone needed to teach this angel how to word things better. He lost his train of thought when suddenly, they were in the middle of a field, gray clouds above them. The transition was jolting, and for a moment, Dean thought he would lose the chili and the pie, which would really have been a shame. Then he caught sight of Sammy and the nausea grew ten times worse.

Directly in front of them the field was burning, wild flames licking up the grass, wet as it was with snow. At the edge of the fire lay Sammy – asleep or unconscious, Dean didn't know. Standing over him was a man with yellow eyes. Dean made some kind of noise – later, Caleb would say he growled – and surged forward.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, big brother."

The demon raised its foot and planted it on Sam's chest. Sam's chest, which was barely rising and falling, stuttering on each exhale. Dean pushed against Caleb and Bill, who were somehow there too, holding him back, keeping him from getting to Sam.

"Sammy!" Let him be okay, let him be alright, and do it now, Uncle Bobby, do it now!

"Oh, Mr. Singer. I wish you hadn't brought that along." The demon raised its hand, holding Uncle Bobby and the other men immobile. Somehow, Dean alone was still free to move, and he was getting pretty sick of the creature's smug grin. He lurched out of Caleb's frozen grasp and flung himself to the ground beside Sam. Above him, he could hear the demon laughing, but he paid it no mind.

"Sammy! Sam, you hear me?"

"Ah, Dean. Maybe you can help Sammy see the light. He refuses to destroy the angels that have been torturing him for an entire year. I'm not sure why he thought it was a good idea to say no to a demon, but he did."

"Yeah?" Dean checked Sam's pulse frantically. "Well, maybe the fact that you killed our mom had something to do with it!"

"Oh, but I was very fair with him. I even offered to bring Mommy back to life." Sammy's pulse was strong. Dean could afford to leave him a moment, so he jumped up ready to punch the demon to death, Colt or no Colt.

"I'll kill you- !" But the demon now held him immobile as well. It clucked its tongue. If Dean had been able to move he would have ripped its lungs out.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," the demon shook its head, a vague expression of disgust on its face, as if Dean were a particularly disappointing specimen. Dean struggled against the invisible bonds, but he was helpless. He grunted in frustration.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel moving. He'd forgotten about the angel. Maybe it could still move even while the demon was immobilizing everyone else. The demon was laughing, now, a creepy laugh that made Dean want to bash its face in.

He wracked his brains for a good conversation starter. One that would work to distract the demon standing on top of his little brother so that an angel he'd just met could kill said demon. Naturally.

"So, uh, what's your evil plan now? Sammy said no to you, because he's obviously been listening to his older brother and is just as awesome as I am, and, uh, you've been defeated by a twelve-year old, so what are you gonna do next? I mean, he's a pretty awesome twelve-year old, so it's not really a surprise, but, uh… what are you smiling at?"

"At your ever so subtle angel friend. But don't worry. He'll enjoy his trip to Sri Lanka. It's much sunnier there." The demon finished tracing a symbol on its jeans with its own blood and then slapped its palm against the completed artwork. There was a burst of light, and Castiel disappeared.

The demon grinned. Blood dripped from its hand, and it casually wiped its face, spreading the blood down the chin of the poor man it was possessing.

"Ew," Dean blurted.

"My thoughts exactly. But don't worry. The angel's long gone. Where were you? Distracting me, was that the plan?" Dean's face grew red with anger. There went their only chance-

Below him, Sam opened his eyes and winked.

Dean was so stunned he almost blew it. He glanced frantically at the demon, hoping it hadn't seen. Now he really did have to distract it, had to give Sammy a chance. He let his anger take hold.

"You evil, twisted monster! I don't even have words for what you are. I'm gonna rip your lungs out. I'm gonna tear you into pieces. You're gonna regret touching my family!"

"Is that right? Somehow I doubt…" But then the demon was on the ground and Sam was grappling with it with superhuman strength. Sam was holding back the demon, The Demon, the Thing that killed Mom, and Dean was so stunned that at first he didn't realize he could move again. He spun around.

"Uncle Bobby!" But Uncle Bobby was already running, nearly level with Dean.

"Can't get a clear shot with Sam so close," he panted. Dean didn't wait to hear. Any second now and the demon would recover, freezing them again.

"Give me the gun," he breathed, holding his hand out.

"Dean," Uncle Bobby began. Then he handed the Colt over.

Dean grasped it with two hands.

He breathed.

In. Out.

He took aim.

In. Out.

He fired.

* * *

Dean had always been a good shot.

That was all Sam could think before he was falling to the ground and everything went dark.

* * *

Someone knocked on the door.

Dad didn't move. He hadn't really moved at all since yesterday, since Sam-

"Winchester? It's Joshua. Open up."

"Dad?"

Dad finally rolled over on the bed.

"Open the door, Adam. It's Joshua. Don't break the salt line."

* * *

Sam was dreaming, again. He was getting a little tired of all of the dreams.

"Sammy," said a voice.

Not again, Sam thought.

"No, dear," came the voice, laughing this time. It made Sam feel warm all over. "It's me, this time."

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm here now."

"Mom, I've been so scared." She was holding him now, stroking his hair.

"I know, baby. You've been so brave."

"We killed it, Mom. Dean shot it."

"You did good, Sammy. I'm so proud of you. You know what you have to do now?"

Sam did, somehow. He nodded. Mom pulled his bangs back, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. He felt tears running down his cheek, felt himself weep even though he had never felt happier.

"It's gonna be alright, baby. I'll be with you."

* * *

Dean lay on his back, panting. What had happened?

The sky was black with smoke. He could hear Frank's raspy cough from somewhere far away. Groaning, he rolled over. Where was Sam?

There! A skinny arm that Dean would recognize anywhere. Sam lay haphazardly under the smoking body of the demon's meatsuit. The Demon. It was dead.

"Sam!" Somehow, he got to his feet and ran over. He felt weak with relief when he felt Sam's pulse, strong and steady. Dean shoved the body off of him, sparing a moment of pity for the poor man who had been possessed. Then he hauled Sam up, cradling him.

"Come on, Sammy. Wake up, little brother." Sam moaned but didn't move. Thunder rumbled and the sky grew even darker.

"Dean." Dean whirled around, gun cocked and safety off, only to find Castiel on the other end of the muzzle. He clicked the safety back on.

"Castiel! You can't just do that! Scared me half to death."

"Dean, we must hurry. The demons are coming. The angels will be here any second. Neither side will let Sam go without a fight." Obeying, Dean frantically slapped at Sam's cheek to wake him up.

"Come on, Sam, come on!" Sam's eyes were moving beneath his eyelids, and when Dean hoisted him into a sitting position he blearily opened his eyes.

"We must hurry, Dean! Get him up." The other hunters were standing now, gathered around in a semicircle.

"Where will we go?" That was Sam's voice, and Dean was so thankful to hear it he nearly forgot everything else. Then the earth shook and he looked up to see ranks upon ranks of what must have been angels, the smoky forms of hundreds of demons filling the air.

"We will run, Samuel Winchester. We will protect you."

Sam barely had the strength to lift his head. Somehow, he met Castiel's piercing gaze.

"It was you?" Did Sam know the angel? Dean shook the thought away and shifted to support Sam's neck. Sam, who was somehow still talking, if not walking.

"Th- thank you, sir. But there is nowhere to go. They will always find me." And he shared a long look with the angel. He seemed at once far older and far younger than his twelve years. Finally, Castiel lowered his eyes and bowed his head.

"As you wish, Samuel," he said.

"What?" Dean thought wildly of _The Princess Bride_ again. "What does that mean? What's happening, Castiel?" The angel's face, normally emotionless, was full of grief.

"Sam?" Dean asked. The wind was growing louder and louder, its murmurings building into an overwhelming roar. He looked frantically between his brother and the angel. "Get us out of here, Castiel!"

Castiel nodded, mournfully. Dean still didn't understand why. The other hunters reached for Castiel, and in that moment, Sam tumbled out of Dean's lap. Castiel put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and the next thing he knew they were standing in Bobby's living room.

But Sam wasn't with them.

* * *

**Note: It's incredibly difficult to describe action clearly and I hope I did this scene justice! Let me know what you think!**


	13. Thunder

**Note: Thank you all for the kind reviews and encouraging words! Enjoy this next one!**

* * *

**Thunder**

The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice

Of Heav'n receiv'd us falling, and the Thunder,

Wing'd with red Lightning and impetuous rage,

Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now

To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.

_Paradise Lost_, John Milton, 1773

* * *

"You left him!"

Adam flinched. Joshua was shouting at Dad, and Dad… Dad was sitting on the bed, staring at the ground.

"Do you know what you've done? Everyone is after him, John, everyone! The demons- !" Joshua broke off and turned away, chest heaving.

"You're right," Dad said. He raised his head. "You're right, and I don't know what… I don't…," he swallowed, and Adam was suddenly afraid that Dad would cry again. "My boy. My poor boy."

Joshua was still angry. Dad stood up.

"Joshua, what can we do? Help me save my boy, Joshua. I'll do anything."

Joshua finally looked at Dad. "You'll do what I tell you, and you won't do anything stupid, Winchester."

Dad straightened. So did Adam.

* * *

Sam was caught in a swirling storm of black smoke and white light. Surging through the smoke to his right was an army of demon meatsuits. They gathered into a great mass of black eyes and mindless shouts.

The wind roared. Through the fog to his left, he could see an army of smartly dressed, perfectly poised businessmen marching noiselessly across the field. The angels, he guessed.

By some unspoken signal, they stopped as one within a few feet of Sam, a surreal mass of expressionless faces, suits and ties. The demons formed the other part of the semicircle across from them. Sam was surrounded. He clenched his teeth through the pain in his foot and straightened.

* * *

Dean grabbed the angel's shoulder.

"Take me back."

"I cannot."

"Take me back!"

"Dean, I cannot!"

"Why?"

"He told me that he must do this alone. I swore that I would allow him to make his own choice when the time came."

"He can do it alone all he likes, as long as I'm there with him. Take me back."

* * *

Sam was ready. He knew what he needed to do.

"Samuel," an angel stepped forward. He was possessing a bald man with a horrible smirk. "It is the will of heaven. Kill the demons. Kill them, as they killed your mother."

"Sam," came a sweet, high voice from behind him. Sam spun around to face the demons. A little girl in a white dress stepped forward. Sam shivered. She spread her hands, just like Adam did whenever he was telling Sam a story. "The angels poisoned your daddy's mind against you. They killed the other children like you. Kill the angels, Sammy, and we'll bring back your mommy."

"Sammy!" Dean was running up. Dean was supposed to be far away, was supposed to be safe. Behind him stood the man in the trench coat, the angel, Castiel, and with him were Uncle Bobby and the other hunters. Bill Harvelle was retching into a bush. "Sam, please, come with us. We can hide from them. Come, Sammy. You don't have to listen to any of them." He wrapped his arms around Sam, half hugging him, half holding him up.

"Please, Sam," he whispered. Sam met Castiel's eyes over Dean's shoulder, and the angel nodded solemnly. Sam knew what he needed to do. He'd been prepared to do it, had asked the angel to take Dean away so he wouldn't have to watch. But now Dean was somehow back.

He knew what he needed to do, but he didn't know if he could do it.

"I'm scared, Dean." Dean drew back to meet his eyes. Smoke swirled between them and the wind roared. Sam's heart was beating faster and faster.

"Come with us, Sam. We can hide from them. We'll be safe, you and me, together."

Sam wished Dean would stop talking. His vision was blurring with tears and he was trembling. He knew what he needed to do. He knew what he needed to do, and he was going to do it. He pushed Dean away, stumbling a little. Dean let him.

"Leave, Dean. Let me do this. I know what I need to do. Let me do it."

"No, Sam!"

"Please, Dean." Dean was shaking his head, tears running shamelessly down his face.

"No, Sam. No. Whatever you have to do, I'm staying with you." He stepped closer, slid his arm under Sam's again, holding him up even as Sam stumbled in the wake of the thick tendrils of churning black smoke which swept between them.

"I'm staying, Sam," he said again. He locked eyes with his brother. "I'm not leaving you."

Sam hesitated only a second longer. Then he clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Dean?" Uncle Bobby shouted, straining to be heard over the wind. "What's the plan?"

Dean's arm at his back, Sam straightened. He lifted his hands. One, towards the demons at his right. The other, towards the angels at his left. He reached deep inside of him to that pull in his gut that had never been about the fires and let it free, shouting inarticulately.

To his right, demons began to scream. To his left, angels began to fall.

"I guess that's the plan, then!" Uncle Bobby called, cocking his shotgun.

On both sides, demons and angels surged forward.

* * *

Dean held onto Sammy as he trembled, arms outstretched. The forces of heaven and hell converged on them, held back only by a few hunters and an angel. From behind, Dean could hear Uncle Bobby shouting an exorcism. Castiel was in front of him, motioning to Frank as he sliced across his palm. Then Frank slammed his palm against the earth, and a few angels vanished in a burst of light. Unfortunately, so did Castiel, but Frank seemed to know what to do next.

They were holding the line, maintaining a wide circle around the two boys in the middle of the field, but Dean knew it couldn't last. Sammy was already faltering. His arms were shaking, his breath coming in short gasps.

"Just a little longer, Sammy," Dean promised, even though Sam could see as well as Dean just how many demons and angels remained. Dean stepped around in front of his brother and grabbed both his arms. He raised his voice above the wind.

"You can do it, Sammy. You just focus on doing your thing. I'll hold your arms up." Sammy nodded, panting, unable to speak. Sweat ran down his face, and Dean noticed distantly that his nose was bleeding.

Behind them, Rufus yelled. Sam flinched and faltered, the demons gaining ground as he did so.

"Eyes on me, Sammy," Dean said. "Focus. I'm with you, little brother. Eyes on me." Sam stared at him and Dean stared back, the rest of the world falling away as Dean held his little brother's arms up and Sam gasped and panted and put an end to the supernatural forces of the world.

For a few minutes, Dean really thought they would make it. Angels and demons disintegrated as Sam's power slowly turned them to dust and as the hunters around them slapped their palms against sigils drawn in blood, shouting exorcisms as quickly as they could.

Then a cry rang out behind them, and Caleb fell to his knees, blood spilling from his abdomen. Both brothers faltered at the sight of their friend, wounded, trembling on the ground. Demons and angels lurched forward, surging over the hunters, fingers grasping at Sam's thin t-shirt, hands clawing at Dean's jacket, pulling the brothers apart. Dean strengthened his grip on Sam's arms and they locked eyes again, struggling to stay together. This was it, Dean supposed.

"Dean," Sam panted. "I… "

But whatever Sam had been about to say was drowned out in a sudden blast of incongruous music. In the smoke and wind, the Impala's headlights were barely visible as John Winchester surged through the field, running over demons and angels alike. He jerked the car to a stop between his boys and the army of monsters, shooting rock salt like a cowboy from an old Western before he'd even pulled himself out of the car. Joshua tumbled out of the passenger seat, throwing holy water left and right.

And Dean locked gazes with Sammy and grinned.

* * *

**Let me know what you think in the comments!**


	14. Lifeboat

**One more chapter in time for the weekend. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Lifeboat**

"Yet help had come in time; bravely the life-boat had done its work: bravely the hardy sailors, familiar with many such scenes among the dangers of the rocky coast, had risked life and limb, passing , and repassing across the surging waters, whose every wave seemed more than sufficient to engulf the little boat, thinking not of self or personal peril, so that those others only might be saved."

_The Churchman's Companion_, Joseph Masters, 1867

* * *

In a motel room in Wisconsin Rapids, Adam Winchester sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the floor. Surrounding him was a thick layer of rock salt.

Dad had told him to be strong. To be brave.

The wind was roaring outside. The window rattled.

Adam clutched Lion. Sammy had told him that he could tell Lion anything, and Lion would tell Sammy.

Sammy was strong and brave. He only cried when he was really, really hurt. Dad and Joshua were going to find him and bring him back.

Adam tried to remember what Pastor Jim had said about praying. _Please help Dad find Sammy_, he tried. And then, because Pastor Jim always said it, _Amen. _

* * *

Dean coughed harshly. He wasn't really sure how he was still standing. Wasn't sure how Sam was standing. Wasn't sure if anyone else was still standing outside the small circle that his world had become. Dirt and snow swirled round them as the wind pulled at their clothes, as demons and angels trampled each other to reach them, pulling at Sam's arms to force them down even as Dean held them up. But somehow, they kept their feet against the furious surge of monsters, standing together and so intertwined that Dean didn't know where Sam ended and he began.

Sam could barely hold his head up, anymore. His nose was still bleeding, and he wheezed with each inhale. Dean just wanted it to be over, but the mass of creatures seemed to never end. Faint shouts and a momentary abatement in the relentless onslaught were the only sign that the other hunters were still there, fighting. That Dad was still there.

"Just a little bit longer, Sammy," he shouted. Fierce music from Dad's cassette tapes drifted on the wind like a long-forgotten dream, warming Dean with courage. He strengthened his grip on Sam's arms.

A demon scratched at his face, drawing blood. Then it was gone, Castiel suddenly in its place.

"You're back?" The palm slapping thing must only work for so long.

"Dean!" Castiel shouted. "Dean, it's too much! He has to let go."

"What?"

"It will kill him, Dean! It's too much! Let me get you out!" A demon pulled Castiel down, out of sight. But he was right, and Dean could see it. Sam was barely holding on. This was gonna kill him.

Dean couldn't lower Sam's arms just yet. Sam was the only thing keeping them from being completely overrun. They would have to wait until Castiel came back.

"You hear that, Sammy? We're gonna get out of here."

But Sam wasn't as out of it as Dean had assumed.

"No, Dean," and if he hadn't slurred his words Dean would have been more impressed at the strength behind them.

"Yes, Sam! If you finish this now, you'll die! Castiel can get us out. We just have to hold on till he gets here!"

"No!" Sam insisted, raising his head and taking more of his own weight. His arms were steadier now than they had been this whole time.

"Sam, please- "

"No!" And this time, Sam's cry was so intense that Dean took an involuntary step back, only to be pushed forward by the demons behind him.

"We can come back for them, Sam," Dean began.

"No, Dean," Sam said fiercely, meeting his brother's gaze. "No," he shook his head. "This ends today. If I don't do this now, they'll come after us. They'll kill us anyway. I know it. I know. I won't get another chance like this, with everyone in one place. This is it."

Dean's arms were the ones trembling now.

"Why, Sammy?" His voice broke. "Why?"

"I don't know, Dean," and tears were running down Sam's face too, now. "I don't know. Stay with me, big brother?"

Dean snorted through his tears. "Duh. Don't be an idiot."

Sam blinked away his own tears and grinned. "Jerk."

Dean's reply was drowned out by the wind. By the wind, and by the fierce cry that Sam gave as he straightened one last time, held out his arms, and released a final burst of power. Dean could only hold on to his brother as the storm whipped around them, the shrieks of hundreds of demons and angels filling the air.

Then, silence.

* * *

Adam was trying to be brave. Sammy and Dean were always brave. The wind shrieked and he covered his ears, dropping Lion to the floor.

The sudden calm made him look up. The clouds were gone. The sun had come out.

But Dad had said not to move. Adam waited in the circle of salt.

* * *

"Sam?"

Sam lay beneath Dean, and he scrambled up to let his brother breathe. The field was bare and scorched black, as if fire had consumed all of the snow and grass. Incongruously, the sky was clearing, the late afternoon sun shining down on them.

The demons and the angels were gone, but Dean barely noticed. Sam wasn't moving.

"Dad! Dad, I don't have a pulse!" He put his hand to Sam's mouth and didn't feel any air.

"Dad!" He screamed, starting compressions. Panic welled up. He felt more than saw Dad and the other hunters run up beside them. But he hadn't even done five compressions before Sam was coughing, weakly batting Dean's hands away.

"…get off me," he wheezed. "So… dramatic." Dean sagged to the ground in relief.

"Dude," he panted. "I'm the dramatic one? You just… " He'd been going to say something about Sam's resurrection stunt, but suddenly it was too real. He grasped for another comeback. "You just… " There was literally nothing to say. "Holy crap, Sam. You did it."

"Dean," Sam rolled his head around to look his brother in the eye. "_We_ did it," he said, earnestly.

Then they both burst into hysterical laughter.

Then Sam was still laughing, and Dean was pulling him up, trying to calm him down.

Then Sam was crying, crying, crying.

"Shhh," Dean said. "I got you, little brother."

* * *

**I'd love to know what you think of this chapter! Let me know, and happy Friday!**


	15. Dissipation

**This chapter was fun to write - and a little longer than usual! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Dissipation**

"The storm was over, and morning broke again over the wide waste of waters. Slowly and gradually the wind was sinking now, and the waves which for many a long hour had surged and tossed in the angry turmoil, were subsiding as the tide ebbed and flowed; quietly and gradually, till as the first faint quivering ray of sunlight dawned out, the tempest had spent itself, and the struggle of wind and waters ceased at last."

_The Churchman's Companion_, Joseph Masters, 1867

* * *

Sam was okay.

After the… well, Dean wasn't sure what to call it. After Sam finished destroying the angels and the demons, he sobbed himself to sleep in Dean's arms. They carried him back to the Impala, wrapped him in blankets, and laid him out in the back seat. Frank found Gordon Walker's car on the edge of the field and hotwired it. As far as they could tell, Walker had died in the fire that the demon had started before they'd even gotten to Sam.

That was probably a good thing. Uncle Bobby had opened Walker's trunk to throw the weapons in and discovered that Walker had probably been keeping Sam in there. Dean had settled for punching the windshield since the man was already dead. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Walker had survived. Thankfully no one said anything. Uncle Bobby just grabbed an old t-shirt out of Dad's trunk and wrapped his knuckles.

Now he was sitting in the backseat, Sam's head cradled on his lap. Joshua sat up front with Dad and Caleb was on the other side of Sam in the backseat, his stomach wound wrapped and bandaged already. Dean was just thankful that even though he was probably the skinniest guy besides Sam, he hadn't been forced to ride in Walker's car with Uncle Bobby, Pastor Jim, Frank, Elkins, Bill Harvelle, and Rufus. It would be a miracle if all those personalities didn't strangle each other on the short drive to the motel.

Uncle Bobby had assured him that Sam was okay. Or that he would be okay. A little underfed – and here Dean snorted, because he hadn't thought that Sam could actually get any skinnier – and a little beat up. Probably very weak from what he'd just gone through. But he would be okay. Dean held his brother close and tried to forget the panic he'd felt when Sam hadn't had a pulse.

Sam's hand fell out of the burrito blanket wrap Dean had created and Dean caught it. There were red marks around his wrist. Marks that Dean, unfortunately, recognized from that one Louisiana hunt that had gone terribly wrong. He remembered what Castiel had said about… he sucked in a breath. About Dad abusing Sam.

"…Dad?"

"Yeah, Son? Sammy okay?" Dad's voice was high. He sounded scared, which always gave Dean pause. And when Dean looked, he saw that Dad was pale, his hands shaking on the steering wheel. Dean remembered the other thing Castiel had said – that the angels had been "influencing" Dad, whatever that meant.

"…Yeah, Dad. He's okay."

Dean hoped that it was true.

* * *

"Adam!"

Adam opened his eyes to find Uncle Bobby shaking him. Uncle Bobby, not Dad. He couldn't help it. He burst into tears.

"What's the matter, Adam? Hey, what's wrong?"

"They… they're not… not… coming. They're dead!"

"Hey, hey! Look, Adam, they're coming in right behind me! They just need to get Sammy out of the car, so I came in ahead. Listen, you have to calm down. Sammy's sleeping, okay? We have to be quiet for him. Can you do that? Take deep breaths with me."

Gradually, Adam calmed down. Uncle Bobby sat with him on the bed and wiped his face. When Adam finally pulled his head out of Uncle Bobby's shoulder, he saw that Caleb was laying out the first aid kit on the other bed and Joshua was sweeping up the salt circle from the floor.

"I stayed in the circle, Uncle Bobby. And I tried to be brave, like Sammy. But I was really… really scared," he admitted, a hitch in his voice as his tears threatened to make a reappearance.

"Hey, none of that, now. You did a good job being brave, Adam. I'm proud of you, you hear me? You gotta be brave a little bit longer because Sammy's hurt and he needs to rest, okay?"

"Okay, Uncle Bobby." Pastor Jim came in and sat beside them on the bed.

"You wanna deal with Elkins? I can sit with Adam."

"That okay with you, boy? Sit here and be good for Pastor Jim?"

"Yes, Uncle Bobby."

"Good man."

It seemed like forever before they brought Sammy in. Dad was carrying him in a bundle of blankets and gently laid him on the bed. And behind him-

"Dean!"

"Shhh… don't wake Sammy up! How are you, dude?" Adam buried his head in Dean's shoulder and hugged him tight.

"I missed you so much, Dean."

"I missed you too, buddy. C'mere, we gotta get out of the way."

They went back to the bed and Adam sat between Caleb and Pastor Jim. Dean went over to the other bed to help Dad and Uncle Bobby. Sammy was making moaning noises but he stopped when Dean sat next to him and held his hand. Adam knew why. Dean made everything better.

The other hunters were coming in and out of the motel room, carrying things and arguing and making lots of noise that might wake Sammy up. At one point, Pastor Jim had to go outside and break up a fight between some of the older men, but he came back grinning, so Adam didn't feel scared. But he was very glad when they started to leave.

Eventually it was just Caleb, Uncle Bobby, Joshua, and Pastor Jim. Adam was especially glad when Mr. Frank left, because it meant that Dean was staying. He stuck his tongue out at Mr. Frank's back, and Caleb grinned and stuck his tongue out too.

Now it was quieter. Adam tried to hear what Dad and Uncle Bobby were saying about Sammy. Uncle Bobby was carefully wrapping Sammy's foot, but Adam couldn't see what was wrong with it because Caleb kept getting in the way. Everyone kept making faces and Dean looked a little bit green.

Caleb finally sat down and Adam got a look at Sammy's face. He didn't look any different. Maybe a little whiter. He looked tired, but he was always tired. And now he was sleeping, so Adam would be very quiet. Dad was wrapping gauze around Sammy's wrists. Adam was glad. That meant no more handcuffs.

"You ready to go to bed, Adam? Sammy's fine, see?"

Pastor Jim brought Adam over to Sammy's bed and let him give Sammy a hug. Adam was very gentle. Then Dean gave him a hug and Dad gave him a long squeeze and Adam was still mad that Dad sent Sammy away but he had been really scared so he hugged him and went straight to bed like Dad said.

* * *

Dad was shaking.

Adam and Sammy were safe and clean and tucked in bed. There had been a lot of chaos and explanations and first aid for everyone's various injuries, but now it was just Uncle Bobby and Dad and Dean. Caleb and Pastor Jim had gone downstairs to ask for a cot and get another room for the night, and Joshua was out getting food and hopefully, alcohol.

They were gonna need it. Now that everyone was safe Dad was having trouble holding it together. They were sitting at the table, trying to speak quietly so that Sammy and Adam wouldn't wake up.

"Bobby… I don't know what… how… how could I? My own son… " Dad ran a shaking hand down his face. Dean met Uncle Bobby's eyes behind over Dad's head. He had no idea what to say. No idea how to forgive his dad for this, much less comfort him.

Uncle Bobby looked grim. No one said anything for a while, and a few tears ran down Dad's face. Finally Uncle Bobby sighed.

"John… what can I say? He's okay. He made it through. Boy's as tough as they come. You did something terrible, and you're gonna have a hard time making it up to Sam. Now… now you just do what you can. You can't change the past. You do what you can to make it up to your son and to keep all three of your boys safe. You hearing me?" Dad nodded once, short and jerky. His hands were still shaking under the table.

"And if I ever see or hear any sign of something like this again, I'll take those boys away from you so fast you won't know what hit you," Uncle Bobby said in a fierce, shouting whisper. "You hear me, John Winchester?" Dad smiled, a strange, sad sort of smile.

"Yeah, Bobby. I hear you," he rasped.

"And John… the thing is dead. I can't imagine how that must feel, but I think it's probably best for your boys that you take a break from hunting now. Keep them safer and give them some stability. You know you're always welcome to stay with me." Dad looked like he was about to really cry, which was a very understandable reaction, but Dean really didn't know what he would do if he did. Thankfully Dad held it together and met Uncle Bobby's gaze, nodding again.

"Thank you, Bobby. I can't… " He swallowed. Uncle Bobby's face softened.

"Don't mention it," he said. Dad nodded one last time. Then he turned to Dean.

"You alright, Son?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm okay."

"Can you… can you forgive me?" Dean had to look away at that. He fiddled with the amulet, purposefully pushing the sharp edges into his palm. He couldn't meet Dad's eyes when he finally answered.

"Not… not yet, Dad. I'm gonna try. But… " He didn't know how to say it, but Dad seemed to understand. He'd hurt Sammy. He'd hurt Dean's family. He'd violated the most important rule of the Winchester codebook. "You gotta give me some time."

Dad seemed okay with the answer.

"Okay, Son," he said. Then he swallowed and looked away too, the way he always did when it was hard for him to say something.

"I… uh… I'm proud of you. Killing that thing. I'm sure it doesn't mean much, coming from me right now, but I'm proud of you, Dean."

It suddenly hit Dean in a way it hadn't before. The thing was dead. The thing that killed Mom was dead, and he'd killed it. He grinned at Dad.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. That one was for Mom. That thing shoulda known better than to go up against a Winchester."

"Yeah," Dad said, looking over at the bed where Sammy lay, pale and still, thin chest rising and falling with a wheeze on each inhale. "Yeah, it really should have."

Joshua came in at that moment, quietly laying out paper plates, pizza, and whiskey. Uncle Bobby poured out several glasses, startling Dean by including him. Caleb and Pastor Jim came in a moment later.

"Are the angels and demons really gone?" Caleb asked. "All of them?"

"I don't know," Uncle Bobby said. "I guess… we stay alert for any signs of them. But we got no reason to believe Sam didn't finish what he started. He may be able to tell us when he wakes up."

But Dean could think of one other reason to believe that they were all truly gone.

"I think… if anyone could have survived, it would have been Castiel. The angel, Dad. And I think he would have come back one last time. Sam seemed to know him, somehow. I think Castiel would have wanted to check up on him." What went unspoken was that there'd been no sign of Castiel since the end of the fight.

"In that case," Pastor Jim said. "I propose a toast. To Castiel."

The alcohol warmed Dean's throat on the way down.

* * *

**The next few chapters will deal with the aftermath and what comes next for the Winchesters. Leave a review to let me know what you think! **


	16. Waves

**Longer chapter this time. Enjoy! **

* * *

**Waves**

"But what a scene of ruin and devastation it was that daybreak disclosed to view! The long line of beach was strewn with spars and broken beams; barrels, boxes, blackened timbers lay scattered here and there, far up beyond the usual watermark, showing to what a height the waves had reached. Now it was a fisher's boat turned bottom upwards, that caught the eye, now a shattered oar floating out with the receding water. Whichever way it turned, the same scenes, the same objects were visible, and all too truly telling their own sad tale."

_The Churchman's Companion_, Joseph Masters, 1867

* * *

The next day was one of the longest and hardest of Dean's life.

The first time he woke, it was still dark outside. Adam was sprawled out beside him on the bed and Dad was snoring from the cot. He eventually realized that what had woken him were little moans coming from Sam's bed. He scrambled out of the covers.

"Sammy? Hey, it's okay. What hurts?"

"Dean?" Sam rasped.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Where's Walker?"

Dean felt an unexpected surge of anger. It took him a moment to answer.

"He's never coming near you again, Sammy. He's dead."

"Dead? Did I… did I do that, Dean? Did I start another fire? I didn't mean to, Dean, I'm sorry, I swear I didn't mean to!" He tried to push himself up but fell back against the pillows. Dean pressed a shaking hand to his shoulder to keep him from trying again.

"No, Sam!"

Sam flinched at his shout and lowered his gaze. Dean breathed in, out.

"Sam," he said, gently. "It's okay. You didn't start any fires."

Sam's eyes were a little bit glazed, like he couldn't understand what Dean was saying. Dean tried another tactic.

"Here, wanna go to the bathroom? Drink some water?" Sam nodded, kind of vaguely like he didn't know what he was agreeing to. Dean lifted him up from the bed and carried him to the bathroom. He was thin enough now that it didn't take much effort (something which Dean intended on fixing as soon as possible), and Dean wasn't willing to let him put weight on his foot just yet. He settled Sam on the toilet.

"You good?" Sam nodded. Dean gave him a onceover, then stepped out to give him some privacy. He found a water bottle in Dad's duffel and wiped down one of the whiskey glasses from last night before pouring out half the bottle. He heard the toilet flush and went back into the bathroom.

"Here, Sammy. Don't want you to get dehydrated." Sam let Dean bring the glass to his lips and drank eagerly, his eyes still unfocused. Dean wasn't happy with the disorientation and he frowned, but of course Sam noticed that_,_ of all things. He flinched away and let some of the water spill.

"I'm sorry, Dean! I'm sorry. I'll clean it up, I will." He fell to his knees in the bathroom and began soaking up the water with toilet paper.

"What- ?" Dean asked, off-guard. "Sam… what?"

"Please don't tell Dad, Dean. Please. I'll clean it up. I won't do it again, I promise."

"No, Sam!" Dean raised his voice without meaning too, a swell of panic rising up inside of him. Sam flinched again.

"Hey, hey," Dean lowered his voice. He thought distantly that Dad and Adam were probably awake by now. "Hey, it's okay. Why don't we try sleeping again, huh? You need some more water first?" Sam shook his head, tears filling his eyes. He held out his hands in front of him. Dean tried to hoist him up from the floor, but he went limp.

"Come on, Sam, help me out here." Sam shook his head frantically, his face white.

"You have to… to salt me in," he rasped. "And use the iron handcuffs. Dad said."

Dean felt like throwing up.

"No, Sammy," and suddenly Adam was barreling his stocky little seven-year old self into the bathroom. Dean moved out of the way, feeling as though he were in a dream. Sam's face echoed the feeling, but Adam stuck his chubby fist into Sam's thin hand and somehow got him standing.

"You're not a monster anymore, Sammy. You can come sleep on the bed now, with me and Lion." Adam led his brother by the hand, past Dad, whose face was so white Dean would have joked about repelling him with iron had it been any other day, and coaxed Sam into bed as if Sam were the child and Adam the parent. He clumsily tucked the blankets around Sam's thin frame, then burrowed in beside him, throwing a little arm over Sam's stomach. With his other hand he reached under the pillow and pulled out his stuffed lion, which he tucked under Sam's arm.

"Goodnight, Sammy," Adam said. Sam didn't say anything. He was staring at the ceiling, still heartbreakingly bewildered, and Dean saw a tear slide down his cheek.

Dean felt helpless, which made him angry, so he left them for a moment to clean up the spilled water in the bathroom. He put Sam's glass of water, still partially full, on the nightstand. Then he made one last trip to the bathroom to use it himself. As he was turning out the light, he was struck again with the image of Sam, looking up at him from the floor, holding out his wrists so Dean could cuff him. He felt sick. He couldn't look at Dad when he came out of the bathroom, so he climbed back into bed and pretended to sleep.

In reality, he lay there and tried to think. Would they go to Uncle Bobby's now that the thing was dead? Would Dad want to keep hunting? Regardless, Dean would insist on a break for Sam's sake. And even though Adam had now apparently received the "Monsters 101" talk, Dean wanted to try to make things normal for him, too.

At one point, Dad got up and went into the bathroom to shower. Dean must have drifted off after that because the next thing he knew Adam was tugging on his arm.

"What?" He sat up. The sun had risen, and the motel room was flooded with early morning light.

"Sammy's foot is hurting. And I'm hungry."

"Alright, dude. Let me check on Sammy's foot first."

Sam was shifting restlessly in the other bed. His eyes were still closed, but he was moaning in his sleep. He was sweating too, and it wasn't like the motel room was that warm. After all, it was winter in Wisconsin and the heater was an old unit that had creaked and groaned its way through the night.

"Oh, great," Dean said, recognizing the fever for what it was. Sam's cheeks were flushed, and when Dean fished his hand out of the blankets it was cold and clammy. Well, that would explain his disorientation earlier.

Dean sent Adam to the other side of the room so he could unwrap Sam's foot, which was not a pleasant sight and had made grown men blanch the night before. Adam was not happy to be separated from Sammy and he made his displeasure well-known while Dean checked for signs of infection. Thankfully, the burn looked like it was healing well, so he wrapped it in a clean bandage and called Adam back. The fever was probably just a flu or something that Sam's body had been too weak to fight.

He roused Sam enough to make him drink the rest of the water from earlier. Sam was shivering violently, and it occurred to Dean that if this was just a regular illness, Adam might be able to catch it too, although it was probably too late to separate them. Dad finally came out of the bathroom and stopped midstride at Dean's look.

"He okay?"

"No, I think he's got a fever. I checked his foot and there's no infection, so I think it's just a flu or something. We got any Tylenol? I didn't see anything in the kit."

"No, we're out. I'll have to run out and get some. What else, do you think? Saltines and soup, maybe?"

"Yeah that's good. Gatorade, too. The blue kind." Dad nodded, already pulling on his shoes and grabbing the keys. The door screeched shut behind him and Sam moaned.

"Shhh, Sammy, it's okay." Thankfully, Sam settled, and Dean turned to Adam. "C'mere, let's find a book to read while we wait for Dad."

Sam's duffle, which usually held the traveling Winchester library, was nowhere to be found, but Dean found some comics in the bottom of Adam's backpack. He settled Adam on his lap and read aloud to him, keeping an eye on Sam at the same time.

At one point, Uncle Bobby let himself in and sat in companionable silence with the boys, waiting for Dad. Sam was wheezing in his sleep, so Dean propped him up with pillows. Finally, they heard the Impala's engine as Dad pulled up. Knowing that Dad's guilt would mean a lot of extraneous groceries, Dean went out to help carry all the bags in. They went as quickly as they could, trying not to let the warm air escape from the motel room.

"Tylenol and Gatorade," Dad whispered. Dean was reading the instructions on the soup package and nodded vaguely. He was tearing the wrapping open when Sam cried out.

"Please! Please, Dad, I'll be good, I promise I'll be good, don't let him take me, please…" Sam kept going, but Dean stopped listening. He dropped the soup on the floor and pushed past Dad to get to the bed. Dad was just standing there, shocked, the open bottle of Gatorade in one hand and two Tylenol pills in the other. Uncle Bobby yanked him out of the way.

"Hey, hey, Sammy! It's okay! It's okay, no one's taking you! Shhh…" Sam's eyes were open now but still unfocused, and Dean watched as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I didn't mean to kill her, Dean. I didn't mean to. I love her, I do. I didn't want to kill her. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" The apologies trailed off into hitching sobs. Dean felt his own eyes fill with tears as he held his little brother, hushing him quietly until he finally calmed down.

"Listen, Sammy, Adam is gonna bring you some Gatorade. It's your favorite kind. Is that okay?" Sam couldn't seem to focus. Dean tried again.

"Hey, Sammy, you gotta be a good older brother for Adam, okay? Let him bring you the Gatorade?" Sam looked at Dean like he didn't know what on earth he was talking about. But his eyes were fixed on his big brother's face, and he nodded trustingly.

"Alright. C'mere, Adam. Bring the pills, too."

It took a little bit of doing, but Dean got Sam to swallow the pills and drink a little bit of Gatorade. Then he settled him back under the covers and sat there for a few minutes, letting his heartrate come down from the scare Sam's shout had given him. When he turned around, Dad was gone, and Uncle Bobby was watching them, a grim look on his face which probably matched Dean's.

Dean sat in silence for a long time, keeping one hand on Sam's wrist and the other around Adam, holding him on his lap. He sat there and looked at Sam, who'd stood up between the armies of heaven and hell and shouted defiance. Sam, who couldn't look at Dad or spill water without flinching. When he finally looked up, Adam was sleeping, drool sliding down his cheek and onto Dean's shirt.

"This ain't gonna work, Uncle Bobby," he said eventually.

The nice thing about Uncle Bobby was that he knew when to sit quietly and listen.

"Sam needs some time away from Dad. And I don't… I can't…"

"Look at me, boy."

Dean did. The nice thing about Uncle Bobby was that he also knew when to smack you upside the head and tell you to stop being an idjit.

"I meant what I said. You boys can come stay with me for a while. I reckon your daddy can use the time just as much as you boys can. He needs to figure himself out, and he needs to figure out what he wants to do now that he's got his revenge and you boys are safe. Maybe that means hunting, and if so, Joshua or Caleb will look out for him. Maybe that means doing something else. But I think you boys can spend at least the next year with me."

He sighed and looked down, adjusting the ever-present ball cap.

"A lot of times, when a kid… when a kid's been abused, he doesn't start thinking less of the abuser. He starts thinking less of himself." He met Dean's eyes again. "What Sam's been through… it's gonna take him some time to recover. I think, given his reactions, we gotta give him that time… without your dad, for however long it takes."

Adam sighed in his sleep, and Dean looked down at his baby brother. The drool was pooling into a wet patch on his sleeve.

"Okay. Thank you, Uncle Bobby," he said, voice hitching a little bit despite himself.

Uncle Bobby snorted.

"Idjit," he said.

* * *

Adam woke up very hot and very confused. His face was wet with drool and he rubbed his chin against Dean's shirt to wipe it off.

"Adam? You awake?"

Adam made a sound to let Dean know that he was very unhappy about it, but he was awake. Dean laughed, but it sounded like a sad laugh. Adam sat up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, buddy. I need you to pay attention for a minute, okay?"

Adam looked over to make sure that Sammy was still in the bed. Then he nodded.

"Okay. So… um…" Dean sighed. Adam wiggled around so he could see his brother's face better, and Dean smiled, but it looked just as sad as his laugh had sounded earlier.

"Sammy is really sick, Adam. And Dad is gonna be travelling for a while. So, while he's travelling, we're gonna stay with Uncle Bobby. It's gonna be a long time before we see Dad again, so you have to give him a big hug and say goodbye. Okay?"

Adam understood. Sammy kept crying when Dad came up to the bed. And Adam wasn't sure he trusted Dad to be with Sammy anymore. But he was gonna miss Dad.

He looked up at Dean and tried to be brave.

"Okay. But Sammy will get better, right?" Dean nodded. "And Dad, too?"

Dean smiled the sad smile again. "And Dad too," he said.

"So what are you crying for… idjit?" Adam said, trying out Uncle Bobby's favorite word.

Dean's smile became a little less sad.

* * *

Sam was hot and cold all at once.

"Bye, Adam. My brave boy." That was Dad's voice. He had to get up and do the research, or Dad would be mad. Somebody pushed him back down.

"Shhh, Sammy. It's okay."

Sam shivered. The cold reached deep into his bones and he would never be warm again.

"Bye, Dean," came Dad's voice again. But he didn't say, "Watch out for your brothers." That was okay. Dean always watched out for them.

The heat was unbearable. A cool hand touched his forehead and Sam leaned into it.

"Sammy," Dad said. "Bye, son."

* * *

**Hopefully this chapter redeems John a little bit. Leave a review with any feedback you have! I'd love to hear what you think. **


	17. Ripples

**This chapter is a little bit rough, both in terms of content and writing. I did my best to keep each character _in_ character, but sometimes people respond to traumatic experiences in unexpected ways. This shows some of the ways that I think the three brothers would react to what happened to them. I kept coming back to it, struggling with it, and editing, but eventually I had to post it or I was never going to do it. You'll have to let me know what you think! **

* * *

**Ripples**

"The ripples in the clouds mimic the torment in the sky."

Anthony T. Hincks

* * *

Dad and Joshua left early the next morning, taking the Impala and Joshua's old Honda. Thanks to Castiel's nifty transportation trick (Adam was convinced that Scotty had beamed them all to Wisconsin), Uncle Bobby had to call in a favor with a friend and rent a car. For all of Uncle Bobby's ornery old man attitude, he had lots of friends willing to do favors like that.

Blue Earth was on the way to Sioux Falls, so Caleb and Pastor Jim squished themselves into the front with Uncle Bobby, and Dean bundled his brothers into the back in a pile of motel blankets and pillows.

It was a four-hour drive to Blue Earth and the Jolly Green Giant. Sam was still feverish and slept through nearly all of it. Adam made them stop twice for the bathroom and Pastor Jim's less than holy sense of humor kept them entertained. They all got out at Pastor Jim's house. Dean roused Sam just enough to make him use the bathroom and drink some juice with the next Tylenol dose. Then he settled him back in the car and Pastor Jim came out to say goodbye while Sam was still awake and semi-alert.

Dean left them to have a minute of privacy and went to rescue Caleb from Adam's non-stop narration of his seven-year old life. Who knew when or even if he would see his friend again, and he had no idea how to thank him for being there through everything that had happened. They shook hands and slapped each other on the back and told each other to, "Take care." Adam rolled his eyes and made Caleb promise to take a picture of the world's biggest ball of twine on his next trip to Kansas.

Pastor Jim shook Dean's hand and hugged Adam tightly, leaving them with a few last-minute instructions to listen to Uncle Bobby and to look out for each other, along with a promise to visit the next time he could get away. Then they all piled back into the car for the two-hour drive to Sioux Falls.

Both Adam and Sam were fast asleep before they'd even made it onto the interstate. Uncle Bobby and Dean took advantage of the time to talk about getting Adam and Dean registered for school and setting Sam up in the bedroom on the ground floor while he was recovering.

"Maybe you can even get that old TV up and running for him," Uncle Bobby said.

By the time they pulled into the salvage yard, it was late in the afternoon. Thankfully, Adam woke up in a good mood and jumped out of the car to greet Rumsfeld. Dean woke Sam up to get him into the house and hopefully to get him to eat something.

Sam did manage to eat nearly half a bread and cheese sandwich before his head started lolling into his plate. Dean pulled the old mattress out of the study and dragged it outside with a lot of complaining and grunting, and Adam took great pleasure in beating the dust out of it while Rumsfeld barked a joyous chorus at the return of his favorite humans.

By the time Dean dragged the mattress into the living room, cleared a path through the piles of books, and made up the bed, Sam was snoring with his cheek smashed against the kitchen table. And thankfully, he didn't really wake up when Dean walked him over, settling easily into what Dean hoped was a deep, healing sleep.

* * *

Uncle Bobby only gave Dean and Adam three days before he sent them back to school.

"We'll be fine, and you boys need to get back into a routine," he said.

Dean and Adam got back into a routine very quickly – a routine that involved racing back from school as quickly as possible to check on their brother. Sam was recovering at a steady pace, gaining some color and weight as his fever went down and whatever flu or illness slowly left him. His foot was taking the longest to heal, which Dean hated because that meant every time Sam put weight on it, he would remember Walker.

Sam was doing okay, though. He was happy staying at the house, reading his way through Uncle Bobby's living room collection and waiting for his brothers to come home from school. And while he was recovering physically, both Dean and Uncle Bobby were privately concerned about the emotional fallout that was sure to come. To Dean's relief, he finally stopped flinching at loud noises, but he was still much quieter and often moodier than he'd been before.

They didn't really talk about what had happened. Dean told himself that he was giving Sam space, but he also wasn't really sure what to say if it did come up.

Adam's behavior wasn't noticeably different, especially given the traumatic experience he'd been through. He seemed to sense whenever Sam was withdrawing into himself and would draw him back out by either asking for a story or telling one. He was definitely clingier with Sam and Dean than he had been before, but it had already started wearing off. The nightmares, on the other hand, were not. He had a few each week, and without fail he would wake up crying, putting the whole household in a bad mood in the morning.

* * *

Adam's nightmares were finally getting better when Dean started noticing Sam's.

Sam refused to talk about them.

Dean, to his shame, was grateful.

* * *

Two weeks later and Sam's foot was healing up. Uncle Bobby said he thought it was time Sammy went back to school. Dean thought it would be good for Sam to get out of the house and back to something that he loved, the little geek.

"I called and got your stuff transferred," Uncle Bobby shouted from the kitchen.

To everyone's surprise, including Sam's, Sam burst into tears. Adam casually explained that when Sam had been a monster he hadn't been allowed to go to school. Dean clenched his fists and Sam cried even harder. Eventually he recovered and ran to the kitchen to envelop Uncle Bobby in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, and Uncle Bobby gestured towards the table with his dripping soup ladle.

"Stop squeezing me and sit down, boy. It's time for dinner." Then, a beat later, "You're welcome… ya idjit."

* * *

It happened at school.

They had all been waiting for it, even Sam, Dean thought privately. His silent moodiness and quiet night terrors had just been the calm before the storm.

Dean had the day off for teacher in-service or something. He and Uncle Bobby were dismantling an '89 Ford F-150 when the phone rang from inside. Uncle Bobby wiped his hands off on his jeans, got up, and went into the house. Dean jammed the wrench in between his teeth to free his hands. He'd finally finished stripping the engine compartment when he looked up and Uncle Bobby was standing there, staring at him. He jumped and dropped the wrench.

"Man, you scared the- "

"Sam got into a fight at school."

"What?"

Uncle Bobby was already heading towards the car.

"Come on. Let's go get your brother."

Dean badgered Uncle Bobby with questions as they rode over, but Uncle Bobby didn't know any more than he'd already said. Sam was sitting quietly in the principal's office when they got there. He had a black eye.

"Let me see you."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Let me see, Sam."

"Leave me alone!"

"Boys!" They turned as one to face Uncle Bobby. "Sit down, Dean."

Dean flopped into the chair beside Sam.

The principal explained that Sam had punched another kid. The kid he'd punched was his best friend at school, and he'd been completely unprovoked. The other kid had two black eyes to Sam's one. Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Uncle Bobby thanked the principal and promised they would deal with it at home. Sam was suspended for the next three days of school. Dean looked over, and Sam didn't even react. He just sat there, staring at the floor.

The ride back was uncomfortable.

When they got back to the house, Uncle Bobby marched them in and sat them at the kitchen table.

"Alright, Sam," he said. "Spill."

Sam told his story quietly, detached. His friend had been asking about the marks on his wrist – the scars from the handcuffs. Like any well-meaning friend, he'd been pushing Sam, trying to get him to open up. Sam had gotten mad.

"Why, Sam? This isn't like you. You get mad, sure, but you don't punch people for no reason." Sam took a moment to answer.

"I'm just so… so mad, Uncle Bobby!" He raised his head. Tears were shining in his eyes. "All the time. I'm just so angry. They took everything from me. They destroyed our family! The Demon killed Mom! And yeah, they're all dead, but that doesn't change anything. We're living with you because I can't even stand to be in the same room as Dad!"

He broke off, heaving.

No one said anything for a minute. Sam sniffed.

"I'm so… I'm so grateful, Uncle Bobby. That we can stay with you. I just want… I wanna be a family again. I wanna be able to sleep without having nightmares. I wanna stop freaking out when people shout at me. I made one friend and now he's gonna hate me. I'm just- "

His shudders had become real sobs, now. Dean's chair was on the floor and Sam was in his arms and both of them had forgotten about Uncle Bobby.

"It's okay, Sammy. Little brother, I got you."

When Sam had calmed down, they had a long talk about how to deal with the anger when it came. Then Sam went upstairs to do his homework.

Dean turned to Uncle Bobby, not even sure what to say, but Uncle Bobby was already ahead of him.

"It's a good thing, Dean," he promised. "Trust me. I would be more worried if he hadn't reacted eventually. He needed to get it out of his system." He sighed. "And I spoke to the principal while you boys were picking up Sam's stuff. There's a soccer team here that Sam can try out for. Maybe work out some of that energy in a more constructive way."

Dean bit his lip.

"He's gonna be okay, Dean. We got his back. He's not going anywhere."

* * *

At dinner that night, Adam loudly announced that he was the strongest kid in his grade and his teacher let him lift the chairs onto the desks when they swept the classroom.

Uncle Bobby said, "You are pretty strong, Adam. Gonna help me run this place when I get old?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "You're already super old, Uncle Bobby."

Uncle Bobby was speechless. Dean grinned and gave Adam a high five. Adam laughed because everyone else was doing it. Sam laughed so hard he snorted juice all over the table.

Dean realized it was the first time he'd laughed since they'd come to Uncle Bobby's.

It wouldn't be the last time, either.

They would be okay.

* * *

**Thank you to all who are reading! Let me know what you think of this! I love hearing your feedback. And I will post the last chapter tomorrow - stay tuned! **


	18. Clear Skies

**I can't believe it, but this is the last chapter, guys! This was probably my favorite chapter to write. I had written the ending to this chapter before I'd even gotten three chapters into the beginning. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Clear Skies**

"And saved they were, the last boat had crossed in safety, the last of the trembling crew been rescued from the wreck; and then the long loud cheer, echoing far and wide, mingled with thanksgivings from many a full heart, had proclaimed success at last, distress and peril over."

_The Churchman's Companion_, Joseph Masters, 1867

* * *

"Adam!"

"Yeah?"

"C'mere! Help your brothers unload the dishwasher."

Adam came running in. It was snowing lightly outside, but he remembered to pull his boots off and wash his hands. Then Dean gave him the silverware to put away.

Dad was coming for Thanksgiving.

He'd called them a few times over the past year. Once at Christmas, most recently at Adam's birthday, and a few times in between. Each time, it had been difficult for Sam to speak with him, and Dean suspected that Dad found it difficult as well. But each time, they met the challenge with the same undeniable Winchester stubbornness.

Now, nearly a year later, Sam claimed that he was ready for Dad to come visit. Nobody said anything about what would happen afterwards, and Dean made sure that Sam knew no one expected anything to come out of it.

Still, they were all on edge. Even Adam, whose memories of the traumatic events from the year before had been heavily blurred by time, was picking up on the tension and acting out a little bit. Uncle Bobby was as steady as ever, keeping them busy while they waited. He'd gotten them up early the day before to clean the house from top to bottom. Sam's geeky OCD nature had found great pleasure in organizing the books into some semblance of order, but Dean had to agree with Adam's loud complaints. Why were they cleaning the upstairs closet? It's not like Dad would find his way up there during his visit. Uncle Bobby didn't let him get out of it, though, and it certainly kept them occupied.

The night before that, Sam's friend Tommy had come over for a sleepover. Tommy was the same friend that Sam had punched last December when they'd first come to stay with Uncle Bobby. He was an easy-going kid, obviously, and Adam worshipped him. They'd stayed up late watching episodes of _Doctor Who_, and after Adam had fallen asleep Dean had swiped Uncle Bobby's copy of _Die Hard_.

Today, though, there was really nothing to do but wait. Uncle Bobby had pies and a turkey in the oven, stuffing and mashed potatoes on the stove, and the table painstakingly set with the only matching dishes that he owned.

Hopefully Dad would come, stay out of Sam's face, and leave after a few hours.

Yeah, Sam wasn't the only one who still had issues with their Dad.

The sound of a plate falling to the floor startled Dean back to the present. The plate hadn't broken, but Sam was standing above it, hands shaking.

"Hey, dude, you've already finished your part. Sit down," and he pushed his brother into a chair, never mind that Sam hadn't nearly finished unloading the bottom rack like he was supposed to.

"Adam, you're done too. Go find a book for Sammy to read to us." He picked up the plate and Adam ran off. "It'll be a comic. I bet you it'll be Batman."

"No bet," Sam said. But he took a deep breath and seemed to calm down a little bit.

"Hey, the kid has good taste," Dean said, putting the last of the dishes away.

There was a knock at the door.

They heard Adam running over, heard the door creak as he opened it.

"Dad!"

"Adam, hey, dude."

Sam closed his eyes at the sound of John Winchester's voice.

"Look at how big you've gotten."

They heard Uncle Bobby come out of the bathroom.

"John," he said.

"Bobby," Dad said. "Here, Adam, if you go out to the Impala, you might find a present in the backseat."

There was the sound of keys rattling and the door creaking as Adam went out. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"Not too late to back out, dude," Dean whispered.

Sam shook his head.

"Come on in. Have a seat in the living room." Thankfully Uncle Bobby didn't bring Dad into the kitchen right away. "I'll get you a beer."

Sam's face paled, and Dean didn't have to guess why. Dad had been drinking heavily the year before. Dean knew that there had been a couple of incidents with broken bottles that still gave Sam and Adam nightmares.

"Uh… no thanks, Bobby. I'm… not really doing beer, these days."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise.

"I got Dr. Pepper," Uncle Bobby said, without missing a beat. Bless him.

"That would be great, thank you."

There was the sound of Adam swinging the door open and slamming it behind him.

"Easy on the door, dude. What'd you find?"

"This is so cool, Dad! Thank you!"

They didn't hear what else Dad said because Uncle Bobby came into the kitchen. He didn't say anything. Didn't push either of the boys to go out and say hi to their dad.

"I got you boys soda for tonight, since it's Thanksgiving. Where's that Dr. Pepper?" He grumbled, rummaging through the fridge.

He found it and went back out to the living room.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dad said.

"Yeah, sure."

Sam looked at Dean and nodded.

"I'm ready. Come with me?"

"Always, Sam. Let's go."

* * *

The walk from the kitchen to the living room was a blur. Suddenly there was Dad, on the couch. Sam distantly noted Adam on the floor playing with a magic kit. Good on Dad. Adam was fascinated with magic tricks at the moment.

His heart was pounding. He stared at Dad and Dad stared at him.

"Hey Dad." His voice sounded like it was coming from far away.

"Hey, Son." Thankfully Dad didn't make any move to get up from the couch. Suddenly Sam was sitting across from him, Dean not so subtly standing behind him.

"Good… good to see you, Dad."

"You too, Sam."

They cleared their throats awkwardly. Dad was playing with the soda can. Sam watched as he popped it open and took a sip.

"I… uh, got you boys something too. Here," he dug in his backpack and pulled out two books.

"Dickens for Sammy and Vonnegut for Dean," he said, smiling nervously. Hesitantly, Sam smiled back.

"Thanks, Dad," Dean said.

There was an awkward silence. Sam examined the book in his hands. _A Tale of Two Cities_. He'd read through almost all of Uncle Bobby's Dickens collection, but he hadn't seen this one before. And Dean was obsessed with Vonnegut these days.

Sam watched Dad take another sip of soda.

Dad hated Dr. Pepper.

Dad was trying.

"So I got into AP History this year," he said, impulsively. His face burned with shame and he looked down. Who cared about AP History?

"Yeah? That's great, Sammy! You've always been good at history. You like your teacher?"

Sam looked over to Dean. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, and I have him for homeroom too... "

* * *

At dinner, Dean finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"How's work, Dad?"

"Uh… good, Son." He scooped up a bite of mashed potatoes. "This is great, Bobby."

Bobby grunted. There was an awkward silence. Finally, Dad put his fork down and took another swig of soda.

"I'm done hunting."

Sam choked on his turkey.

"I mean, there were a couple of hauntings when I got to town, but Joshua and I took care of them. And maybe if something else came up in town I would take care of it. I would… I would owe that much."

Even Adam could tell that this was important. He stopped shuffling his new magic cards.

"It's a nice town," Dad said. "Luverne, over in Minnesota. I got a job at the body shop." He scooped up another bite of mashed potatoes, studiously avoiding anyone's eyes. "They got all kinds of sports at the school – football, soccer, baseball... I'm renting an apartment in the middle of town. The school's pretty good," he started mixing his cranberry sauce into the stuffing. Ew. "And it's within walking distance of my apartment and the body shop."

Dad finally looked up and Sam made himself meet his eyes. Dad smiled nervously.

"It was only a forty-minute drive to get here. And it's about two hours to Pastor Jim."

Dean shifted. His elbow bumped into Sam's because they were sitting side by side. Adam was on Sam's other side, inhaling his third helping of cranberry sauce. Uncle Bobby was sitting next to Dad, baseball cap firmly affixed atop his head. Dad was across from him, squirming. Sam felt a surge of courage.

"You got room in that apartment for three boys?"

Dad dropped his fork. "I do! I mean, I don't want to rush you, Sam. I- "

"Maybe we can come stay with you over Christmas break," Sam broke in, smiling.

Dad smiled back.

* * *

After dinner, Dean managed to get a moment alone with Dad. Sam and Uncle Bobby were washing up in the kitchen and if Adam kept practicing at this rate, he would be an expert magician by the time the week was over.

"I don't understand, Dad. I mean, hunting is the family business. I'm glad you're settling down and all that, but… are you okay with this? Even though there are still monsters out there?"

Dad sighed. "I've had a lot of alone time recently, and a lot of time to think. Dean, you have never forgotten the "saving people" part of what we do. And that saving our family is the most important part of that." He smiled at Dean. "Are there things out there to hunt and people to save? Always. But right now, saving my family is all I want to do. I'd forgotten that. And I think ridding the world of demons and angels is legacy enough for the Winchesters, don't you?"

* * *

It went without saying that Uncle Bobby's pies were awesome. It was a good thing he'd made three.

* * *

Dad stayed until around nine. Adam made him promise to call soon, and Sam went so far as to give him a hug and wish him a safe trip home. Dean shook Dad's hand and was surprised when he reached in for a hug.

"Thanks for watching out for them, Dean," Dad said.

Everyone was pretty much exhausted after he left, emotionally drained by the visit. Uncle Bobby kicked the TV a couple of times until _Doctor Who_ came on, and they settled into the living room. The episode was just starting to get creepy and mysterious when someone knocked at the door.

"I'll get it," Dean said, thinking that maybe Dad had forgotten something. He bounced up from the old armchair, shouting behind him that no, Eccleston still wasn't better than Tom Baker.

He stopped mid-sentence when he opened the door.

"Dean."

"Castiel?"

"It's me, Dean. I'm – I'm human. I prayed, at the end. I prayed to be human. I don't – I can't – I don't have any power, now."

Dean stared. His brothers were watching from the couch with wide eyes, Adam and Rumsfeld both curled around Sammy in such a ridiculous tangle that Dean couldn't tell where boy ended and dog began.

"Can I - can I come in?" Castiel asked.

Sammy nodded solemnly from behind the couch cushions, and Dean grinned. He let the door swing all the way open.

"Of course, Cas. Can I call you Cas? I'm going to. If you're human, you need a nickname. And some food, probably. C'mere, siddown. You ever try Uncle Bobby's famous pumpkin pie?"

On the TV, the Doctor was shouting. "Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once. Everybody lives!"

Sam Winchester smiled. He buried his head in Rumsfeld's warm fur, lifted his arm so Adam could burrow into his ribs, and drifted away to the sound of Dean, bickering around mouthfuls of pie.

* * *

The End.

* * *

**A few notes: **

1\. I feel like I have to acknowledge that this chapter would take place in 1996. The referenced _Doctor Who_ episode wouldn't have come out until 2005. I am glad that we have acknowledged this and have unanimously decided to ignore the chronological inconsistency I created for myself.

2\. I am very proud of the fact that I ended my first Supernatural fic on the word "pie." That is all.

3\. If you liked this and you'd like to send any story prompts my way I would love to see them! I don't want to make promises to fill them, but if I feel like it's in my wheelhouse I'll probably give it a shot!

4\. If you haven't gotten a chance to review yet, please do so! I truly value your feedback, and I would love to know what you think of the story, especially now that it's complete.

5\. Last but not least - thank you. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. Thank you to everyone who read quietly without saying anything (I am usually one of you, so don't feel bad!) and to everyone who encouraged me as I was posting this. Thanks especially to **AdamMilliganWinFan** for the faithful encouragements! This was my first fic, and it took me a long time to convince myself to do this! You have all been so gracious along the way. **Thank you, and happy Tuesday!**


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